The Legacy of the Storm
by Manascript
Summary: The time has come for the dragons to take their place in the Free Alliance. The greatest adventure is upon her, and upon partaking it she will fight, grow, endure, love, and forge a legacy unlike any other of her race. OC first fic (REVISING)
1. Chapter 1

**New Notice 2: I've just edited and revised much of this chapter. It was a painful but alleviating time. Nonetheless, you'll see things here and there that I've tweaked as the story progresses. My passion was fueled again when I rewatched LOTR all over again. I was really weepy over it. **

**Thank you for your anticipation and patience!**

**-With Utmost Sincerity, Mana**** (Formerly E.L Wright)**

A/N: **NEW NOTICE 1:**

**THIS STORY IS CURRENTLY UNDER REVISION AND MILD HIATUS. You are more than free to read the old version, but I would like to notify my readers that it is going through a slight change to improve its quality, seeing that many people are following, I feel as though I can improve my writing to make it more adequate in quality.**

**I have come to this verdict after reading my writing and frowning upon the errors. I will also be working on a prequel to this, now that Peter Jackson is finished with the Hobbit.**

**I sincerely thank all of you and apologize for my lack of response. Your reviews, follows, comments of interest in this story are very encouraging and they are a constant reminder of why I love writing. I may not be brilliant at it, but I'm certainly not going to stop trying to be.**

**With Utmost Sincerity and Well wishes for the Holidays, E.L Wright(formerly)**

Quick introduction, it shan't take long. Greetings to you, dear reader. I would just like to express my thanks for you taking the time to read this story. Before you continue, I would just like to give you a slight prelude with some background information on the creation of this fanfiction. I grew up reading Tolkien's books and watching the films. Needless to say I fell in love with it. BUT I also grew up with Christopher Paolini's Inheritance cycle, and it fueled my love for dragons. I was a little sad at Tolkien's portrayal of dragons but by no means snide in that sadness. So I decided to take things into my own hands and combine my love of dragons with my love of Tolkien's fantasy realm. I would like it to be noted that a** great deal of inspiration with the dragons and their culture in this story is inspired by Christopher Paolini's Inheritance Cycle. So without a doubt, you will see many similarities. I categorized it in the LOTR fanfic category because it does not take place in the Inheritance universe. It doestake aspects of the Eragon series such as the Ancient Language, metallurgy, dragons, and names. **I also have been inspired, in lesser ways, by **How to Train Your Dragon** when I began to formulate the characteristics of different dragons.

So please... No flames or criticism about what is **bolded and/or**** underlined.** I tried the best I could to balance out making the story fit into to the books and the films, but pardon if it doesn't quite fit the written history of Tolkien's realm, for I am a little rusty on my book-knowledge.

With that being said, please read and review!

With Utmost Sincerely, E.L Wright(formerly)

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><p>Disclaimer: I do not own LOTR, or any of the characters of LOTR universe. (Is this how a disclaimer supposed to be? I feel like I'm failing miserably:)

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><p>Chapter 1: At the End of One Thing<p>

A strange woman was living amongst them. The Shire was alive with whispers and gossip of the latest news of their odd neighbor that lived opulently on Bag End.

He, and by he - Bilbo Baggins of Bag End, returned with a _woman_ from that disapproving adventure of his. Of all the things, from riches to the most tumultuous of stories he came back with, he brought a _woman!_

How scandalous! But of course he emphasized his relations with the female were merely platonic, but still…. To have a woman, a non-Hobbit woman nonetheless, to stay with the bachelor in Bag End was odd and unheard of. Then again… Bilbo Baggins had become an odd singularity amongst them ever since he returned from that blasphemous adventure!

The woman in mention didn't seem to be irked or disturbed in the slightest at the whispers and side glances. She entered the Shire with nothing more than a silent stride beside Bilbo. There was little she _did_ to disturb their peace, there was just something about _how _she was that was the primary issue.

Upon first sight, Hobbits felt a sudden terror strike their soul, raising alarms amongst them. By no way were they terrified because she was hideous in any manner of her appearance. No, her appearance seemed quite the contrary. The woman in question and hot topic was not hideous at all. She was a comely lass with lustrous raven hair. It hung in large, loose curls down her slender back when left untamed from its usual lengthy braid. Her olive skin was fair, smooth and unflawed by any pockmarks or freckles. Nor were those storm shaded eyes of hers, complimented by a frame of lashes, by any means unpleasant. Perhaps what could remain to be the only exception were the two lines of scarred skin running along her right face; one on her cheekbone and the other running just after the ear and to the hollow of her cheek as though she had the misfortune and slim luck of encountering and barely evading the anger of a beast with savage talons. It was not an outrageously ugly scar but a scar that told of ugly things.

No… It was her demeanor that terrified them.

As comely as the maiden was, every move she made, the way she gazed, and even the air around her permeated something ferocious. She was clothed like an odd man, in black trousers, worn boots, and an old robe of plain grey with black trim draping her lithe frame down to the midsection of her thighs, held in place by a plain leather waist belt. A piece of navy garment resembling a large, tattered shawl cloaked her figure bequeathing her the appearance of a long lived vagabond. Two different swords were strapped to her back, and the star sapphire pommel of one in particular gleamed with a foreboding, powerful air.

With the sharp points at the tips of her ridged ears, they thought her to be an odd rugged sort of elf or perhaps had elvish blood in her. But she moved with an edge that was unlike the grace of the fair folk; it was less fluid and more fearsome. With a mere narrowing of her eyes or even a simple stoic stare she struck fear into hearts of those with the misfortune of meeting her frosty edge. Perhaps it was the way she stood that made her unapproachable. That scar certainly did not help to lessen the strike of fear in the hobbit folk.

As petite she appeared, hardly anything about her exuded any form of delicacy or even mercy and kindness. In the first week of her stay, many were too nervous to introduce and inquire directly upon the identity of Bilbo's latest guest.

What they found to be more alienating about Bilbo was his genuine ease with the intimidating female. When Bilbo went to his rich hobbit hole of Bag End with her in tow, he was merry. He smiled at her amicably as he opened the round door of his estate and together the two oddities went into the home under the hill. He would be seen with that same fond smile always directed towards her, as though she were a cherished friend when they sat together quietly; him with his pipe and her quietly assessing her surroundings upon a patch of grass beside his humble bench with a book in hand, sketching to her hearts content or giving him one of her rare smiles when they spoke of some cheery topic amongst themselves.

When the nosier neighbors of his finally managed to intercept him without his intimidating companion, they inquired,

"Who is that lass? Isn't that Gandalf's apprentice? What's she doing here?"

Those that knew of Mithrandir also knew of the rumor that spread near and far across the land. It was said that the Istari had picked up an apprentice centuries ago, something unheard of. The apprentice shadowed him for quite some time in the second age, coming and going like an elusive patch of fog roaming about the wet season.

Very few new the origins of the apprentice but myths said that she was a female enchantress, a lady Maia whose presence in Middle Earth was either hidden in plain sight… or the foreteller of an oncoming storm.

Bilbo finally glanced at them with a pleasant smirk. "I'm surprised you didn't come knocking the moment I returned home."

He was no fool of a Took, although he did have some Took blood. He noticed those blatant stares and cautious glances. One would have to be a blind bumbling fool not too.

"Are you mad? With that woman around, I hardly have the courage to pass your front gates!" His neighbor exclaimed.

Bilbo was hardly offended, for his first impression of her was also very much like his folks. But it was unfair to determine the spirit of someone's character purely by their countenance without striking a good conversation or two.

"Shall I introduce you?" He offered politely.

It wasn't the first time the she was in the Shire, but this was the first time she was staying and with such blatant intentions of doing so without concealment.

The neighbors vigorously shook their heads, and he chuckled. "At some point you will have to meet her in person. Don't worry, she is quite kind."

"Another time, Bilbo." They passed upon the opportunity with great enthusiasm. "But tell us the name of your guest, at least!"

He decided to amuse them. "Her name is Elysia. Please come and visit if you're so curious! She's not unapproachable." Bilbo assured.

They were not assured by his assurance. "That old grey pilgrim has addled your brain, Bilbo! She's the epitome of unapproachable."

At this declaration, Bilbo's civility and pleasantness waned. A small displeased frown came to his features as he spoke in a sterner voice.

"Now listen here," Finger raised in the air and shaking. "Elysia will be staying with me for quite some time, and she is a dear friend to me… _Family_ even. I won't tolerate any ill will from any hobbit towards her. In fact, I expect her to be treated like a _Baggins_-" They gaped at this proclamation. "-of _Bag_ _End_!" He stated with finality, stomping a resolute foot on the soil of his property.

The neighbors were affronted by Bilbo's newfound austerity. He spoke so firmly they were unable to find the words to argue.

Despite the ice and rough start, time passed and eventually Elysia was accepted into the Hobbit community even more so than Gandalf was. In time, the Shire folk discovered Elysia had not made a single viable threat to them in her stay. She had little ill will, and many would even go as far as to say they enjoyed her presence. Although still a befuddling enigma, she guarded the much treasured peace of the Shire community.

Indeed, she was a being of much curiosity and amusements, but eventually her intimidating demeanor's edge began to fade like a blade being sheathed. The people began to warm to her and her to them. The younglings of the Shire were particularly fond of her when they discovered she gave the most wonderful little shows of magic much like Gandalf did. When they spotted Elysia, many would swarm around her, pleading for another enchanting display of magic; from conjuring a twister of petals in her hand to snapping her fingers and bringing forth a bright crack of light before showering them with tickling sparks that brought peals of laughter.

The older Hobbits warmed up to her presence as she offered to help them in the fields here and there with strength and stamina that belied her body's feminine form or forecasted the weather with her uncanny "hunches", allowing them to cultivate their crops in a timely manner to follow the climate or cancel a party to be held outside due to potential rain.

Months began to pass into seasons, and seasons into years. Eventually, seeing Elysia out and about in the Shire was as natural as seeing the markets open every weekend.

Yet…the Shire folk still could not put their finger on what Elysia was, for she was as elusive and secretive as the troublesome wizard that came and went. Many theorized or assumed her to be a witch or elf of some sort. She certainly was no hobbit or dwarf or of the race of Men.

They would never have guessed just what exactly resided within the Shire, under the pleasant hill of Bag End. They had been correct in that she was not hobbit, dwarf, nor any race of man. But she was also not a witch or elf of a sort.

Little did those Shire halflings know that Bilbo's friend and housemate belonged to an archaic race notorious for breeding chaos and fire.

After all, it was a barmy to even think that the imposing maiden was actually an ancient, terrifying beast.

They were not to blame for their ignorance, although Hobbits did tend to be disinterested with the outside world. Elysia's kind was either elusive or viciously ostentatious. Those that were not as conservative as their kinsmen were rather notorious for their flaming destruction and terrifying conquests of great places filled with unrivaled treasures.

Indeed… Only a moonstruck mad fool would ever think that a _dragon_ dwelled within the Shire…. Dragons were seen as cruel, creatures of great malice, spawned by none other than Morgoth. They answered to no one, they bore no love, only greed, hate, fire, and death.

But quite contrary to belief, Dragons had _never_ been beings solely existing in darkness and malcontent. Their origins went back to the time of the Maia.

They were not creatures born of evil. Evil came to them in the form of a great and terrible shadow… Their true history was twisted into legends and myths, truths that were lost under the rivers of blood, bone, and anguish. Glaurung had been the first dragon to be witnessed in Middle Earth. But he had only been one of many that existed long before his time as an egg; an egg that had the misfortune of falling into the worst hands.

It was one of the greatest crimes of Morgoth and his successor, Sauron, to reduce the legacy of a powerful race into cinders of nightmares.

So fierce was the damage done by the Dark Lords to the world, especially to the dragon kind, that when the dark reign ended under the hands of the Free People, the dragons remained in hiding, determined to keep what precious few of their race remained untainted by the darkness pure and free from the scrutiny of greedy eyes and volatile hearts.

Yet Elysia existed as an exception created by an old grey wizard's meddling; free and amongst the people of Middle Earth as proof that there was hope for a feared, hated, and diminished race that they could exist in the light.

Being amongst these peace loving people had changed much of Elysia's fearsome spirit. Once upon a time, her heart had been hard, relentless against the fragility of the Free Folk, bitter and without much kindness for creatures of lesser strength and longevity than she. Yet no matter how long or how much of Middle Earth she has seen, there was something about Hobbits that changed even a dragon's nature.

Some of her dragon kin would jestingly say that they tamed her.

She had grown to love the good food, warmth of the hobbit hole, and the innocence of the people, even the grumpiest old hobbit that was discontent at her unique presence. It soon became her treasure, and like any dragon with their hoard, she was fiercely protective of it.

There was a reason why, despite the darker days with greater packs of orcs, goblins, and trolls venturing further and further from their wretched domains, a reason that the Shire still remained untouched by evil's hands. However, in the oblivious eyes of the Hobbits, they merely saw it as a mildly strange habit that Elysia went to and fro from the Shire at random moments for indefinite amounts of time.

She was much more frequent than Gandalf, who they soon became wary of and proclaimed a "disturber of the peace" ever since the Erebor fiasco he involved Bilbo in, who used to be a very respectable hobbit. Whether she was secretly deemed as one as well was of little knowledge or concern to Elysia; the Hobbits were not in need of knowing that her wandering was actually hunting.

Bree soon began to be filled with rumors of a mysterious stranger roaming the lands in the shadows and fog. Perhaps it was one of those elusive rangers. They did not know for certain, but what they did know was that unpleasant wanderers tended to avoid the Shire after what happened to the group of bandits, all still missing, without a trace, without a sound, without a clue as to where they vanished ever since they made a threat to raid the outskirt's hobbit holes.

Shire folk even began to give her a surname. Walkins, they called her, Elysia Walkins, the lady that literally walked into the Shire… and Elysia Walkins cherished her time in the Shire. It was her place of peace where the weariness caused by the evil in the world did not enter, where she could finally hope for some tranquility after a lifetime of wandering with the haunt of losing everything beloved to her eons ago.

While peace entered her heart and things didn't seem to get any better than how it already waas, she was proven wrong when Frodo Baggins entered Bilbo's life.

Only a wee child, he had lost his parents and was taken in by Bilbo. Perhaps Bilbo was in need of a blood related company or he took the boy in out of pity. Nevertheless, Elysia adored the small creature.

Love blossomed in her heart when her gaze first fell upon Frodo.

Elysia sat on a small stool, elbows resting on knees, and head bent low while her stormy eyes locked onto a pair of large soulful blue orbs. They were so bright and blue they put polished blue gems to shame.

"So… this will be your successor?" She mused curiously, directing her words to Bilbo who was pouring them tea in the dining room.

"Yes. When my time comes, I will leave everything in Bag End to Frodo." Bilbo gave her mirthful smile. "I should warn you, my dear Elly, Frodo can be a bit of a rascal. He's hung out with the mischievous pair far too often."

Elysia chuckled at this. "Merry and Pippin?.. Looks like Bag End won't be so quiet after all." She tilted her head and smiled softly if not uncertainly.

"You're so… tiny, little one."

Indeed, Frodo was a tiny thing. She could pluck him up by the scruff of his collar as though he were a kitten. Small and delicate, hobbits were in comparison to her kind… their infants even more so.

"Well of course he is, Elly. He's a Hobbit, and a not even in his tweens." Bilbo said as he stepped into the warmly lit common room.

Upon seeing Elysia's face, he softened.

As stoic as Elysia was, there were certain things as a friend Bilbo could tell. The hesitation in those intuitive eyes as she peered at his nephew told him enough. Despite her draconian nature, the lady had a gentle heart.

Frodo's wide eyed and for some reason, admirable gaze confused her. He stared at her with silence thus far, not uttering a single word. Elysia wondered if he was mute after losing his parents so suddenly.

"Frodo always asked me about you. Don't be shy, Frodo, my lad." Bilbo encouraged and gestured to Elysia with a nod of his head before sipping on his cup of tea.

Little Frodo Baggins stared at the non-hobbit maiden in fascination. He had been with the children that swarmed Elysia for a small magic show, but now he had the opportunity to have time with the delightful lady all to himself. Her curious scrutiny made him a little shy. Was there something wrong with him? Then he heard her speak. He quite liked her voice. It wasn't silvery and girlish like many maidens, but it held a low, husky, and oddly melodious timbre.

It was a voice that told of great cowing strength. Yet, it soothed him, making him feel safe and protected like the warm embrace of a mother or a very soft blanket of wool.

Building up his courage, Frodo made the first move and walked up to her knees.

"Can I feel your hair?" His request caught Elysia off guard, but she appeared more amused than startled.

Frodo wanted to feel at least one of those glossy onyx curls of hers. They looked much lovelier and very different than the curly hairs of the hobbit maidens he had seen all his life.

Strong but gentle hands plucked him from the floor and propped him on a lap. Delighted, the small hobbit grabbed a lock of hair and began to tug and caress it, marveling its silky texture and slight springiness.

Bilbo smiled at the kindness in those greyed orbs. It was a rare, picturesque sight to see Elysia Walkins appear so demure. Who knew dragons were capable of being such affectionate creatures? He had a feeling those two would be destined for a strong bond of friendship and love. It was an odd thing to hope and predict; dragon and a hobbit... And as odd as his little family here in Bag End was, he wouldn't have it any other way.

Indeed, Elysia grew very fond and fiercely protective of Frodo, and Frodo grew equally fond and loving of her. She was his surrogate mother, sister, and undeniable friend. He was usually the first that came rushing to greet her after she returned from one of her elusive trips. They confided secrets with each other, but Frodo never knew the magnitude of the secret Elysia shared with him when he a tween. It was his unwavering loyalty in her and the importance of their friendship that kept all secrets under tight lock and key. Besides, it was fun to have secrets only the bachelors of Bag End knew. It felt more important.

It was a fine day for some tea when Frodo was finally given the greatest secret of them all.

"Elly…? Are you an elf? Is that why you're always going away?" Frodo inquired as Elysia drank her tea. Bilbo was off to purchase some of the fresh fish from the local market. He stretched on the tips of his toes and looked up at her. Her ears were pointed but funny for an elf. They had these odd, frilled ridges.

"Are you visiting Rivendell? Will you sail west?" His voice grew more nervous. The thought of Elysia leaving them for good made him apprehensive.

The said woman placed her tea cup back on the table and peered curiously at her young hobbit friend.

"No… I am not an elf, and I haven't visited Rivendell since your Uncle Bilbo ventured there." She explained.

Frodo's gaze was still expectant for a more thorough elaboration.

The dragon then sighed and patted the chair next to her in the dining room. Frodo sat obediently, and Elysia found herself musing how fast he had grown into his tweens. Mortal folk grew up quickly, almost too quickly for her immortal liking.

"It's about time I've told you, little one. I don't like to deceive you." She smiled flatly. Frodo didn't like the sorrow that flickered in her bottomless gaze.

"Can you keep a secret?" She whispered in a hushed tone. Frodo smiled and leaned forward.

"Come on, Elly! You know I always do!" He wasn't loose lipped like Pippin, who rambled on about everything like a foolish Took.

"Oh?" Her eyes twinkled merrily. "But this is a secret you **must** keep. It is the secret of secrets. If you don't…" Her voice became hushed and jestingly horrified. "I might have to leave you forever."

Now Frodo would definitely keep the secret to his dying day. He vigorously nodded and Elysia leaned forward, and behind the twinkle in those silvered eyes, there was a melancholy of archaic origins. It made him sad and half tempted have her stop from telling him.

"I'm nor Elf, Hobbit, or any race of the Free People, little one. Remember those stories Bilbo has told you? How he survived his adventure and witnessed the desolation of Smaug? What did he tell you… About dragons?"

Frodo knew the adventures of Bilbo almost by heart.

"He said that he saw two of them… One that helped him and then there was Smaug who was terrible and stupendous… But he never told me the name of the blue drake. He said he promised the blue drake he wouldn't give away its existence. He said no one would really believe him anyways."

Elysia smiled wider at this. "Bilbo is a hobbit of honor… The blue drake knew she could trust him… He was always _my_ favorite out of the company."

It took a few heartbeats, but the revelation came to Frodo. His eyes widened and his mouth rounded to an O. He stared at her with a new fascination, and Elysia waited for any signs of fear.

"You're jesting!"

His exclamation made Elysia chuckle in relief, but she did not deny any deception. Frodo's eyes grew even more impossibly wider, bulging from his tiny face. Elysia wasn't a very good liar.

"B-but… B-but… Where are your scales? Where is your tail? Your wings? You don't even have the tongue!" Frodo began to peer around Elysia for any signs of scales or wings.

Elysia laughed and simply rested her chin on her hand.

"Magic, little one. The shire would be in an uproar if they saw a dragon roaming around. We dragons have always been capable of shifting into this form, but it is a forgotten technique to some that find it of little use. We had once used this form to wander amongst the two legged races unperturbed by unwanted eyes, but now… Dragons prefer not to associate with the more delicate people of Middle Earth."

Still, the disbelief remained in Frodo's eyes and Elysia shook her head with a sigh. "You do not take my word for it?"

She then plucked him by the collar and lifted him eye level.

Her pupils began to sharpen into slits, and Frodo could have sworn he saw a scaly blue pattern flicker across the surface of her skin. Perhaps it was the trick of the light.

But then the oddest thing happened that brought a gasp from the young Baggins. A pair of silvery white horns began to protrude from her head, pronged halfway like a young branch. They resembled the antlers of an adolescent stag.

"Not all of us drakes have wings… The ones that reside deep in the forests and the mountains can be flightless. But I do have wings. However, this room is rather small for them to come forth comfortably."

Elysia flicked out her tongue, revealing a slight split in the center. So she did have a forked tongue…

Elysia settled the Baggins down on his feet and her features began to return to normalcy. Frodo was still gaping.

"Are you frightened Frodo?" She inquired lightly, yet in her heart she began to dread Frodo's reaction. Would he run away and scream in fear?

"… Can you fly?"

"Yes… My clan, in particular, has the best fliers amongst us dragons."

"What's it like?" Frodo wondered in awe. To have the ability to fly, she must have ventured anywhere and everywhere.

She cracked a fond, crooked grin. Frodo could have sword her teeth looked a bit sharper than usual.

"It… It's the most invigorating and wonderfully free experience… You're not scared?" She assessed him kindly.

"Scared?.. whatever for?" He asked, tilting his head.

"Well, little one. I _am_ a dragon."

"You'd never hurt me." Frodo stoutly said. "Bilbo says you protected him and saved his life on many occasions. But, Elly… Bilbo says Bag End is like a second home for you… Where is your first home? Aren't there more of you? Don't you have a family of dragons?"

The sorrow became more prominent in those eyes, and Frodo immediately regretted asking as her smile became sad and hollow. It sent an unpleasant pang in his heart.

"My family died a long time ago during the dark times." She stated softly. "There is no one left of my clan but I."

The greatest damage done to the dragons was not merely the enslavement of their kind, but the massacre of an entire clan. She was all that remained of a proud tribe of dragons that once tamed the storms.

A small hand patted her cheek, breaking her out of her mournful reverie. Frodo gazed at her with his large blue eyes.

"We're your family… Bilbo and I…"

A smile of fondness returned to Elysia. She plucked Frodo from the floor and embraced him in her warm arms. If she were in her dragon form, she would have enveloped her wings around the hobbit.

"Indeed you are."

And so Frodo and Bilbo Baggins were the only two hobbits to know what exactly Elysia Walkins was. Elysia indulged Frodo with tales of her kind, and her many adventures and stories, and there were even times when she came back from one of her mysterious trips with a token for them. It brought joy that she could share something of her lost home to someone other than Gandalf.

"What's this?" Frodo marveled at the foreign flower potted on the table. It was a dark rich blue deep throated lily that bloomed with a surreal glow.

"That is a Loivissa, little one. It is a flower native to the mountains near my home." Elysia yawned, weary from her long travel.

"It's beautiful." He was afraid to touch the lovely flower, not wanting to damage it.

Elysia smiled. "It is most beautiful under the moonlight. It gives off a white radiance. You should see when there is a whole field of them, little one. You do not need a lantern to light your way when these flowers illuminate your path."

"Can I show Sam? Please, Elly?" All Hobbits of the Shire knew of Elysia's frequent mysterious trips. Frodo wouldn't have to divulge details, but still it would be nice for someone else that truly loved making things grow to see something like this.

"See if that gardener can cultivate the flower for you." Elysia ushered. The said hobbit immediately ran out the door, leaving Elysia to muse to herself.

"I hope Bilbo purchased some of that fish."

She then released a troubled sigh and rotated her shoulders, grunting at the soreness. Flying for copious amounts of time with little sleep took its toll on her body, and all of the energy wasted on her scouting expedition was for naught.

She growled in frustration. "I wonder if Gandalf had any success in finding that wretched little gremlin."

Elysia couldn't deny she was impressed by Gollum's stealthy ability. Even with her keen senses, he was well hidden. It was a bit demeaning, like a hawk unable to catch that stupid rat despite its predatory prowess.

Time was waning; they needed answers of the creature's whereabouts. There was an evil that lurked like a poisonous shadow in Middle Earth, and the shadow was expanding from the black peaks of Mordor. At the pace it was going, there was little doubt that the darkness would spread to the outermost regions of Middle Earth.

It was beginning to stir turmoil amongst the dragons to the extent in which a council in the Cave of Ancients had been called, something that hasn't happened for centuries since the end of the dark times.

Dragons had no ruler. They had no king or lords, but one sovereign dragon who only used his authority when a dire matter was at hand.

The Eldest, the longest lived and the wisest of the drakes was revered as the only source of absolute authority amongst the drakes. But the even Eldest's rule was not absolutely arbitrary. He served to create a platform for political affairs amongst the clans. Matters that involved the entire race were settled at such councils when a consensus was made.

Each clan of dragons had figureheads, clan leaders elected by their kinsmen to represent them in the Council of Sovereignty.

It was on a chilled winter's eve when the Eldest finally utilized the power of his position. Birds were the messengers of the scaled ancients, and throughout the land, the feathered servants sent the order far and wide.

The Eldest had summoned them so suddenly. Clan leaders, rogue travelers, all the dragons that were not in their great hidden slumber had come to the colossal archaic cave of hardened molten rock and jewels. Hexagonal pillars were used as perches for many dragons. Some even rested on the large crystals jutting out from the walls. To encompass the mass, many of the younger dragons had shifted into their smaller forms.

Elysia herself was perched near an opening, never having been fond of caves and the underground to begin with. At least in a hobbit hole, there are windows.

They all faced the Eldest who sat between an archway of smoothed rock and crystal.

This ancient being could hold Smaug in a clawed hand. With a single swipe of his massive tail, he could sweep an entire village of houses from their foundations as if they were made of hay, but like all the great old dragons he spent his time predominantly sleeping and dreaming. With a long serpentine neck ridged with large weathered spikes and a frill of sharp horns crowning his head, he shook his massive form and unfurled his large wings, shaking the dust from the edges of the veined, leathery extensions. His white scales rippled like pearls as he preened the slightly frayed edges of his wings before opening his great maw and revealing worn but still formidable serrated teeth. His name was Valzinjr the Ancient.

"**Naina garzjla**!" (Brighten light!) His deep powerful voice echoed in the darkness with the ancient language of truth.

No one dared disobey a command from the Great White Dragon. A few massive drakes with stockier heads and under biting jaws opened their mouths. From their maws a flame was lit and the cave was illuminated as the crystals began to spread the light.

"Atra du evarínya ono varda." (May the stars watch over you.) He rumbled in the ancient tongue.

They all murmured in unison. **"**Atra esterní ono thelduin. Mor'ranr lífa unin hjarta onr. Un du evarínya ono varda**.**" (May good fortune rule over you, peace live within your heart, and the stars watch over you.)

As the ritualistic words of greeting came to an end, the White Dragon continued in the ancient tongue. His voice did not resonate through the cave, but through their minds in a collective conscious by magic.

"_**I have summoned you all under the watchful eyes of the stars to give you grave news… Nine hatchlings of Vervada have been taken."**_

An echo of growls and hisses of exclamation echoed through the cave. Elysia's eyes widened and a hiss escaped her own throat. They could not disbelieve this news or deny it for one cannot lie in the ancient language. A deep and powerful magic older than the White Dragon prevented that.

Still, to say it was shocking was an understatement. Amongst the dragons, there was a code of conduct. To kidnap or kill a single hatchling from their nest was the greatest of taboos. To kidnap _nine_ was a deed of pure evil they have not been exposed to since the dark ages.

"_**Death… Kill… Destroy! Burn the vermin that committed this atrocity!"**_ Many dragons snarled in a rage so great it caused tremors in the mountain.

"_**Silence!"**_ Valzinjr ordered.

They obeyed, but mutters of dark threats hung thick in the air. The thirst for blood was great.

"_**The vermin that committed this cannot be destroyed by fire, for he is an evil that thrives within flame, shadow, and ash."**_

Unease rippled through the air.

"_**All of you know whom I speak of… The Forsworn has awakened… The darkness is rising. His black peaks are alight with hellfire. Our kind is being threatened once more."**_

"_**Then we must face this threat and fight!"**_ A cold drake roared.

"_**You're a fool of a wyrm, Jormun! Do you want history to repeat itself? We rebelled against the Shadows and look what happened! The War of Dominance crippled our kind. The great Storm Clan was destroyed." **_A fire drake hissed.

At the mention of her people's massacre, Elysia flinched. Even after eons to cope with the scars of her clan's bloody end, the loss still burned like an icy knife into her heart.

"_**Hold your forked tongue, blood scales!"**_ An old dragon with brown scales covered in vegetation growled. _**"Do not mention that forsaken night to one who has lived it."**_

At this, many sharp eyes flickered to Elysia. The Eldest lashed his tail out and smacked it to the ground to reclaim order. The cave fell silent once more.

"_**Fyrenze is right. We have not recovered from the War of Dominance. We cannot have our kind lose ourselves to the shadows once again or it shall drive our race to the verge of extinction."**_

A green dragon let out a low moan, expressing his disdain. _**"So what? We're supposed to hide? Like some cowering sparrows?"**_

"_**Yes… And no… We must aid the Free Alliance in secrecy as much as we can."**_

The crimson dragon, Fyrenze, let out a smoky snort. _**"The Free Alliance? A bunch dysfunctional races that fight amongst each other, starting blood feuds over petty matters. We have little means of connecting and aiding lesser species, Edlest… Unless…" **_Fyrenze narrowed his amber eyes._** "You speak of relying on the bastard offspring of Saphira while we hide…?"**_

The White Dragon was about to chide the young red drake but a roar interrupted him. The said "bastard offspring" bared her teeth and spat a ball of her notorious heated blast at Firenze's perch.

"_**Is that a challenge I hear, Fyrenze?"**_

"_**What of it, kin killer?" **_Fyrenze snarled.

He still hadn't forgiven the storm dragon for her part in Smaug's desolation. The drake shared his blood.

Elysia gave a snort of scorn.

"_**Your precious Smaug the Stupendous had it coming to him. His mind was rotted by the shadow, and he fell into mindless greed and vanity. Be wary not to follow the trail of his stench, fire lizard. I had little regrets ending his tantrum, I'll have none ending yours." **_She threatened.

"_**You grew soft in your time with that old meddlesome istari!" **_He countered heatedly.

Many dragons had shared disapproval when Elysia's apprenticeship to Mithrandir was known. Elysia had already been considered a bit of an idiosyncrasy. Many were shocked when Elysia's formidable dam was impregnated by an unknown source. When dragons mated, it wasn't always for life for it depended on the dragon. To mate for life with a single partner was a rare occurrence.

Still, every dragon always knew who their sire and dam was. Elysia was the exception to this and to many other things. Regardless, a dragon should have been raised by a dragon, taught by a fellow drake regardless if they hailed from different clans. They considered Mithrandir to be staining her dragon nature.

An earsplitting shriek stabbed at their sensitive ears as the "kin killer's" claws raked the flat surface of stone. Elysia's tail twitched like a hunting cat as she released a low hiss.

"_**Do you want to test that, blood wyrm?... I will skin you **_**alive**_**…"**_

"_**Stormwalker! Fire drake! ENOUGH!" **_Valzinjr rumbled and quelled the rising venom between Elysia and Fyrenze. He lashed his serpentine head to the tall pillars where Fyrenze was perched and glared at the young drake with powerful gold eyes.

"_**Take great care what you imply, Fyrenze. Are you saying you doubt my judgement?"**_

Fyrenze seemed to shrink at this. _**"Forgive me, Eldest…. I did not mean to insult your judgement." **_He all but spat, unrepentant.

The Eldest snorted and released a hiss before he directed his mind's voice to all.

"_**We have little choice but to remain hidden from the wretched Eye of the Forsworn. As powerful as we are, the undiluted magic in our blood makes us weak against the Taint from his serpent's tongue… But Elysia has shown more resilience to the shadows than any of us. She is the only one that can act as our representative when the time comes and the Free People summon a council… The Forsworn has committed the most disgusting of crimes. We cannot linger and do nothing." **_A long heated breathe escaped the old being. _**"But we cannot lose more of our people to the darkness… If more of our people fall, then it will be our bane and the bane of this world."**_

"_**We need not another Place of Sorrow." **_A gold and crippled dragon by the name of Glaedhron mournfully added.

Dragons weren't the most peace-loving creatures. In battles and challenges, Elysia's kind held a savagery that could cripple a hardened warrior with fear, but they were not war mongers.

To many veterans, like Glaedhron Goldenscales, the haunting misery of the war ran deep. Glaedhron's hatchlings were motherless and Glaedhron's back leg was lost in a battle between two of their corrupted kin, Agravel and Jura. They were his clansmen and cousins. Many dragons had been forced to fight against loved ones that went mad from the Taint.

_**"Many that are not here have already sought to hide in slumber…"**_A serpentine drake of the sea hissed and swirled around her crystalline pool. Her scales glimmered several hues of sea green and silver while her lanky limbs grabbed the edge of the pool with clawed webbed fingers.

_**"And the elves are sailing west, are they not?"**_ The Eldest asked.

The sea dragon hissed and nodded.

"_**My sister, Mirimel grows restless. She has informed me the darkness dwelling in putrid waters is starting to stretch its tendrils. Many of my kin are beginning to stray further away from Middle earth and reside within waters closer to the eastern shores of the Undying Lands."**_

_** "Fernyn Seasonscales residing in Mirkwood has become silent."**_ A brown wingless dragon informed.

Vanzinjr the Eldest narrowed his eyes and heaved a great sigh. _**"And so despair thickens and hope wanes… We must remain on guard. Those of you that yet sleep and will remain so must keep constant vigilance. May the stars watch over you, and may your claws and fangs remain sharp."**_

With that being said, the great communion came to a wary end. Elysia remained while the dragons began to disperse, returning to their dwellings in the sea, mountain, plains, or forests.

When they were alone, Valzinjr and Elysia finally spoke in private.

"_**I have given already given you Silvindr amongst many other things. I cannot think of anything else I can give to you to aid you on this perilous task."**_

Elysia was in her human form, perched on the massive forefinger of the ancient dragon. She smiled and bowed respectfully.

"_**You have given me enough, Valzinjr-elda and have honored me with your faith. I will do what I can to help our people."**_

The Eldest let out a small but tired sigh as he curled into a more comfortable position.

"_**Perhaps it was fate that you became so different amongst us. You storm dragons were a curious clan in general, but you… You and your mother bring a whole new breed of peculiar into the mix…. May the stars watch over you, Elysia Bluescales."**_

"_**To you as well, Valzinjr Whitescales…"**_

In a whirlwind of blue streams and fiery magic, Elysia was off into the night for the very long journey back to the Shire.

Elysia sat on a patch of grass on the hillside of Bag End, munching on a slab of salted pork as she watched Frodo and Sam marvel at the Loivissa in the distance. She smirked softly at Sam tending to the Loivissa with great care, scooping it out of its small clay pot and into a much larger and fancier pot glazed a lovely green that emphasized the beauty of the plant.

Fyrenze was right about one thing. She did have a soft spot for the Free People, hobbits in particular, and she will see the end of the Forsworn's shadows not only for her people but for this place and its people she grew to love.


	2. Chapter 2

**Two chapters in a row? What's the occasion? It's a sincere apology for being a fickle creature who took quite a prolonged break from updating this story.**

**Anyways, please read, enjoy, and review**

**-Mana**

**Disclaimer- I don't own LOTR. It's owned by one of the greatest writers ever to exist in Earth.**

* * *

><p>Chapter 2: The Unseen Storm on the Horizon<p>

Frodo walked through the round door of his Uncle's estate with an apple in hand. Munching contently, he wandered the halls and bent over the table in nonchalance to glance at the maps his uncle poured over more than usual as of late. He stopped his lazy perusal at the sight of the chest, or more specifically what was _not_ next to the chest. Jaws forgetting to chew, Frodo quickly searched through the hobbit whole with a small pout.

"Elly?" He called.

A voice right behind him made him jump and his curly hairs stand on end.

"Yes little one?" His heart eased at the familiarity of that smoky voice.

Turning around, he met those penetrating sage-like eyes that reminded him of a stormy day.

"You're leaving again?" His voice was more accusing than inquiring. "Faersing and Silvindr are missing."

Elysia wore her everyday outfit, consisting of a plain tunic and trousers tailored to her fit. While it was odd for a comely woman to dress up so plainly and unlike her gender, the hobbits of the Shire could only shrug it off as another oddity of their Elly Walkins.

The said maiden smiled at the interrogation and the sharp observations made by her small friend.

Silvindr and Faersing, her two swords and most prized possessions, were always tucked safely in the corner near the trunk of Bilbo's belongings. They never moved from that spot unless Elysia moved them herself which usually happened when she was about to travel again. None but her would lay a hand on the swords.

While Silvindr, the white and silver falchion was simply untouched by anyone else out of respect for Elysia's valued possessions, Faersing was quite literally untouchable. The sword had a mind of its own. It did not consent to being wielded by any other except its master, and there had even a time when Elysia had been unable to wield her own sword… but that is a tale for another time.

In Frodo's younger years when he was sorely tempted to touch the scabbard or even grip the handle or pommel of the marvelous sword, Elysia quickly admonished him, having said sternly though not unkindly,

"Faersing is volatile and unyielding to anyone… Even you, young master Baggins.".

Only a rare number of times had Frodo been able to hold the sword (by the scabbard) and touch its mesmerizing pommel.

"I have somewhere to be and someone to meet, little one. Don't fret, I won't be long." Sometimes she was away for weeks at a time, and Frodo always missed her even though he knew she would return.

Frodo huffed through his nose and crossed his arms with the apple still in hand.

"Will you be here for Bilbo's birthday?"

It was also Frodo's birthday as well, but he did not say. Elysia felt affectionate pride at Frodo's humble heart and ruffled his dark curly head.

"Master Baggins! You wound me. You think I would ever have the audacity to miss an occasion of such importance?" She was mock offended and that brought a laugh from Frodo.

The hobbit has grown into a nice young lad. Even though hobbits aged slower than men, Elysia, although proud, found herself in slight mourning that Frodo has grown up so fast for her immortal liking. Soon, Frodo would no longer be in his tweens and become an adult by hobbit standards. Although by Elysia's old standards, he was still exceedingly young.

The sun was setting and soon it would get dark. It was prime time for Elysia to leave, for in the dark her dragon form was hidden the best. Frodo stared up at her pleadingly.

"Can I at least see you off?"

Elysia's eyes narrowed at the devious little trick. Frodo's large blue eyes were hard to say no to, especially when he pleaded so sincerely. With a sigh, Elysia nodded.

"Let me secure Faersing and Silvindr and you can come along until we reach the edge of hobbiton."

...

Frodo walked with a bounce in his steps alongside his dragon friend. She donned her usual outfit of leather and a plain gray hooded robe. Her swords were wrapped up in an innocent bundle to prevent the hobbits from looking at her with more displeasure, and her long, thick braid hung down her back in its usual place, swinging back and forth with her steps.

"Elly?"

"Hm?" Elysia didn't' bother to cast a glance at Frodo.

"Can you tell me the story of Faersing again?"

"Again?" She smirked and finally looked down at her hobbit companion. Frodo nodded. He never tired of the story of Faersing's origins, or any story that Elysia treated him to.

"Well where to begin…" She drawled for some old story telling effect. "Faersing is what we dragons would call in the common tongue a 'soul item'. A long time ago, when our smaller forms were of more frequent use and we are of age, the dragons had the choice of forging an item that served as something to represent them; an extension of themselves. The item is usually made of things that are mined, and as it is forged, it is imbued with the magic that runs through the one dragon's veins. All soul items are forged with draconian fire or mined and polished into a pristine appearance by their dragons. It was a tradition in my clan to create a soul item that could be wielded as a weapon."

Elysia looked up at the starry sky, and Frodo followed her line of sight. "One particular night, when the stars were shining bright upon the Eyrie where we once dwelled, a star fell to the land. It crashed and caused a great crater that was eventually used as a nesting ground and as its light diminished it left behind an ore of metal. We called this metal Brightsteel or Starmetal, and eventually it was a ritualistic thing amongst the storm clan dragons to forge soul items through this ore along with their scale in order for their item to mirror the dragon's color. Brightsteel can be scattered anywhere in this world, but it is extremely hard to find and extremely valuable to the dragons. I eventually found my ore deep in the roots of an ancient tree."

When she let out a long sigh, the night's chill clouded her breath. "Ten days and ten nights it took, and I nearly breathed out all the heat I had within my fire. I felt cold and feeble, but with the assistance of Rhunon, an ancient dragon that mastered the arts of metal, from the heart of my flame and effort came Faersing. Faersing, like all soul items, is near indestructible. It can cut through the thickest sheet of steel as if it were made of parchment and even pierce through draconian scales. It has shattered blades, slew many formidable foes, and has been my loyal companion for the longest time. But alas, the stubborn weapon can be a bit too flashy and conspicuous for my taste and exceedingly destructive. Silvindr is much more subtle."

Silvindr was not made of the star metal, for it was forged before the discovery of the sky ore. It was forged by the Eldest himself using his own scales and a strong hardy alloy of steel and mithril. Silvindr was deemed no less valuable than any other new Brightsteel made weapon or treasure. It was as light and swift as the wind, silencing many unsuspecting enemies with a quiet cut.

"We're here, little one."

They stopped at a clearing surrounded by a healthy forest of trees. Night had fallen and the sky was moonless, perfect for Elysia to take flight without being seen.

"You better not be late to the party." Frodo pressed. "Uncle will be very cross with you and so will I."

Elysia smiled and bowed with a hand placed over her heart. "A dragon's honor."

Then in a twisting flurry of flaming blue light, in Elysia's place was a great winged beast with scales of sapphire hue. Frodo seldom ever saw Elysia in her draconian form, and when he did he marveled at the jewel like quality of her scales and her majestic appearance. She was smaller than he thought dragons would be, especially for one as old as her. Elysia had jested that she had always been the runt of her litter, but it was a lesser form of her true size. Her original form would be too big for her to remain discreet.

She placed all four sharply clawed limbs onto the earth and shook her body. Her form was built to be sleek, swift, and aerodynamic. Her massive wings were complimented by a pair of winged fins at the base of her body that aided her glide. The tip of her tail was also finned like a fan, retracting and spreading as the long appendage swayed back and forth. Her lithe body was the size of a small cottage or a large wagon. Sharp white spines traced the back of her serpentine neck and calmed into curved scale plates that ridged her back to her long tail.

The softer scaled underside of her form and the two pronged horns crowning her head were marked with a peculiar silvered pattern that resembled feathered crescents. The markings were a unique trait of storm drakes, Elysia had explained once when he asked. Legends said that the first dragon of the storm had been struck by lightning, but instead of harming the drake, the lightning empowered the dragon with heaven's might.

She was beautiful, and although Frodo never saw another dragon, he had the firm belief that Elysia was the fairest dragon of her kind.

The said dragon seemed to sense Frodo's admiration and bent her head, snorting at Frodo's curly hair. The hobbit looked up at the scaled being and smiled wondrously, wondering what it was like if he perched himself at her neck and held those antler-like horns on her head.

"Be back soon, Elly." Frodo whispered as he embraced the dragon's thick neck.

Elysia's tail twitched and she let out a warbled sound before her wings wrapped around Frodo in a protective blanket. Frodo marveled at the warmth of her frame and the taut membrane texture of her wings.

"Go home, little one." Her voice naught but a whisper as she nudged him away and released him from her winged embrace.

Frodo smiled. He stepped back and waved as Elysia unfurled her massive wings and shot vertically to the sky in a massive gust of powerful wind. Within heartbeats, she was out of sight in the darkness and Frodo began to rush home to the comfort of the Bag End hobbit hole.

~O~O~O~O~O~

How wonderful the cool night air was as it caressed her wings. Elysia closed her eyes and glided through the columns of thick clouds bulging in the sky. Feeling giddy at the exhilarating freedom, Elysia spun as she soared upward before easing her body and ceasing her flapping. Her body began to sink and she quickly maneuvered her wings and with a few beats, steadied herself back to her usual glide. Why did all those other winged dragons reside in such gloomy, restricted caves when all of this was open to them? Her clan knew how to _live_ and _enjoy_ this fantastic sensation only those with wings could understand. Who needed to seek solid treasure when they had this gorgeous wealth in the heavens?

As much as she loved being airborne, she had her responsibilities and an errand to run. Swooping low enough, she scanned the forest and sniffed the air to catch the scent of a familiar dragon that roamed these woods. Her claws grazed a lake and managed to snag a few fish before settling to the ground. Elysia tossed the fish onto the grass and began to shift into her two legged form. She grimaced at the odd sensation of her wings and tail sinking into her skin. With some useful magic, her clothes began materialize on her frame. The enchantment to keep her clothing and belongings intact was tedious, but it was less tedious than having her clothes torn at her transformation or forcing them to be carried in her claws. She never carried much to begin with because of that matter. The more weight she had to carry, the more tiring the magic would be.

Adjusting Faersing and Silvindr on her back trap, she tucked her braid into her hood and quickly concealed her face under the cowl before plucking now limp fish off the ground by their tail.

Fangorn Forest had always fascinated her. It was full of mysteries, life, and strange magic that filled the very air and overwhelmed her senses. She walked precariously in silence, taking great care not to disturb the slumbering trees. Eventually, her walk halted at the base of a particularly large tree partially uprooted to a slant.

"_**Greetings, leafscales…"**_ She whispered in the ancient language.

The silence hung in the air for a few seconds. Then a rumble was heard from the roots of the tree, and finally the odd lumpy mounds of earth, rock, and vegetation began to move. A small growled sigh rose from the ground.

"_**So you've come, bluescales. It's been a while…. Since you've visited…" **_The earthen ancient dragon spoke as slow as an Ent.

The drake was wingless and massive, so massive in fact that only its upper body was unearthed while the rest remained in an underground hollow snug in the roots of the slanted tree. Moss covered the dull brown green of his scales, and even a small sapling complimented by a small shrub adorned the dirk caked back of the old dragon.

Elysia found these earth dragons to be perplexing. How could they stand to have so much dirt dirtying their scales? Emrys Fernscales had once merely chuckled and told her she would never understand. Her mother, Saphira, prided her radiant blue scales. Many dragons that inherit the jewel like quality now and then were vain and cleanly. But Saphira's mother was on a whole different altitude with her scales. While Elysia inherited many things from her mother, she—as many dragons—could not rival Saphira's vanity, but rivaled her dam in her mild obsession with cleanliness. She was always determined to keep her scales in pristine condition.

So to see these dirt caked dragons with plant and fungi on their backs was a scale itching peeve. Elysia wanted nothing more than to toss the dragon into the nearest lake and scrub him clean but alas, courtesy to the old dragon prevented her.

He wrinkled his noise and a forked tongue flickered from his lips. Green eyes became lidded in expectation under the drapes of lichen and moss.

"_**You brought a treat?"**_

Elysia looked unamused as she snorted and lifted the three fat fish in her hand.

"_**I'm surprise you can even sustain yourself on nuts, berries, and vegetables. We dragons are not herbivores, Virin."**_ She deadpanned. Dragons were capable of surviving on a variety of diets, but most always leaned towards meat.

"_**Bah, it's tedious to catch the blasted furry critters and I'm old… Chewing them takes more effort. Fish and greens on the other hand…."**_ He licked his chops. _**"Toss one of them fishes."**_

Elysia did as the old dragon requested and tossed a fish into his open jaws. Like a crocodile, he snapped up the meal and swallowed with a small gulp.

"_**So what is it you want this time, Bluescales?"**_ Dragons never felt the need to just simply drop by and share pleasantries. There was always a motive behind visiting those drakes residing in solitude.

"_**Any news?"**_ She perched herself on a boulder and tossed the rest of her fishes to Virin.

Virin released a throaty sigh before swallowing the morsels. With a small groan, he settled himself more comfortably on his forepaws. The moss on his limbs cushioned his ancient head.

"_**Fangorn is noisier than usual… Something foul is permeating the old air."**_

"_**With the Forsworn still in existence, there is always something foul in Middle Earth. But Fangorn is under the watch of the White Wizard."**_ While Elysia never met Saruman in person, she was told he is the strongest and wisest of the Istari.

A snort smoked out of Virin's nostrils. _**"It is the White Wizard that I sense something foul from. He has not taken his usual stroll through Fangorn for some time now. Isengard is starting to stink like a bog… The trees are becoming restless."**_

The matter with Saruman disturbed Elysia, although she would never let it show. Something didn't feel right about that white Istari. It never sat well with her horns to know that he was the lead figure of the wizards.

"_**What of those repugnant beasts?" **_She inquired.

"_**The orcs?... The trees whisper to each other… Orcs are becoming more as of late. Some even dare to enter Fangorn, but you and I both know that is a foolhardy thing to do. The trees are restless, and they were never fond of those foul creatures."**_ The dragon's nose wrinkled in distaste at remembering the rotting stench of the orcs.

"_**The trees are always restless-"**_

"_**No… Bluescales… I mean they are starting to stir… More than usual."**_

"_**You mean the Ents?"**_ Elysia was surprised. _**"The Ents have been dormant for centuries."**_

"_**Well they are starting to rattle their old bark. It won't be long now…"**_

Elysia frowned and narrowed her eyes before inwardly shrugging at this. It was of little concern to her whether or not the Ents are active. There were more imperative matters at hand.

"_**Have you located that gremlin?"**_

"_**Gollum? The pitiful creature? No, he has not wandered into Fangorn. I've lost track of him since his escape in Mirkwood. The trees there aren't very intuitive as of late… Darkness spreads through their soil and air more profoundly."**_

"_**I'm not surprised. Even Fernyn isn't responsive."**_ Elysia grumbled.

Ever since Gandalf discovered Sauron to be the one under the foul alias of the Necromancer in Dol Guldur, Mirkwood was maimed. She would have sought Fernyn herself, but Elysia painfully avoided Mirkwood. After the incidents with Thranduil and a certain pointy eared princeling of his, Elysia would not enter there unless it was a must, not even for the finest fireweed.

"_**Brightscales… Be cautious as you tread this volatile earth… The soil is becoming more tainted with blood and shadow… The death of many innocent sings from these roots. The Forsworn Shadow is starting to spread once more…. Especially in the skies, you must be wary."**_

"_**I'm always vigilant." **_Elysia somewhat sniffed.

"_**Hide yourself well…"**_ Virin began to sink back into his earthen domain. _**"Spies of the Forsworn are everywhere… May the stars watch over you."**_

"_**And may good fortune rule over you, leafscales." **_Elysia straightened up from her boulder seat as the dragon began to sink and submerge himself deep into the roots of the old tree once more.

...

Something was amiss. The sky held a lesser sense of freedom as she glided through the clouds. Virin's warning had left her warier than usual, and her scales itched in apprehension.

"_The spies of the Forsworn are everywhere…"_

Her senses were more alert than usual. This time she took no leisure to spin or loop and express her aerial skills. Sniffing the air, she scoured the skies with her keen eyes… There was nothing for a moment… but then she caught it. Her ears twitched as she heard a cacophony of croaking squawks and the buzz of many flapping feathery wings.

A massive cloud of Crebain was nearing her route. She knew those foul noisy birds anywhere, but there was something about this particular flock that worsened the unpleasant itch in her scales. A dragon must never doubt their senses, and her senses urged her to conceal herself from these pesky birds. While a great dragon had no need to feel threatened by such dismal little things, Crebain were well known to be used as dark spies, and she took no chances.

As a storm drake, the skies were always in her favor. Wind blew against the Crebain and there was a convenient incoming mass of cloud coverage that could conceal her dragon form. Angling herself towards the cloud, she entered the misty plume just as the raucously squawking birds flew into sight. She navigated through the thick clouds, relying on every other sense other than her sight.

Despite the weariness in her winged joints, she gave an extra burst of speed. She had to keep her promise after all, and for once the skies weren't as inviting and free anymore.

Banking to the left, she decided to take a different route to the Shire.

She landed silently in the South Downs just a few miles from Bree and shifted, stretching her body out and about before beginning the long nonstop trek to the Shire. The sound of horses stopped her in mid stride. Elysia quickly put up her hood and crouched low to the ground. Her forefinger carefully dipped itself in the blades of grass and plucked a few droplets of early morning dew from the green field. Gently pressing the dew moistened forefinger to her lips in a shushing gesture, she blew a soft hiss through her mouth.

Soon a thick mist began to rise from the moist ground the land was shrouded in fog, reducing visibility to a bare minimum. With the particular spell in good work, Elysia went off towards the Shire.

Dragons were hardy, like the elven folk they needed little sleep and could travel for days without rest. But even the healthiest of elves and dragons had their limits. Elysia was the epitome of healthy, but she had flew nonstop for a solid week and was now walking nonstop to reach Bag End, not even stopping for food. A hungry dragon was an impatient one.

The sun began to rise and birds began to chirp as the world slowly began to awaken. Elysia continued to walk on the main road with quick and purposeful strides.

Then she caught that old sing-song voice. It was a voice she has listened to for centuries upon centuries. If she were in her dragon form, her tail would have twitched like a cat in waiting.

"The Road goes ever on and on~

Down from the door where it began~.

Now far ahead the Road has gone~"

_Now there was a voice for sore ears._ She mused in delight as she began to walk at a more leisurely pace, waiting in excitement for the horse and cart to catch up to her on the road.

"Pursuing it with eager feet~,

Until it joins some larger way~

Where many paths and errands meet.~

And whither then? I cannot say.~"

The voice gradually grew louder, as did the sound of the horse's clopping feet and the creak of the old wooden cart. Eventually, a cheerily walking horse came into her peripheral view, as did the hint of telltale gray.

"Such a curious sight to see a sky loving drake walk a trivial distance." The old voice mused. "If you're going to take a leisurely stroll to enjoy the greenery of the Shire, I suggest you do it at a later time than this foggy morn."

"Aye… Then will you be willing to give the needlessly strolling lass a little lift?" She inquired in a modulate voice.

"Will I be willing? And when you mean by 'little' you mean a few miles? Or would you prefer a complete ride to Bad End, and if that's the case, the lift is by no means little."

Elysia released a small chuckle and finally turned her head, lowering her hood.

"Good to see you too, Mithrandir." Without further ado, she stepped onto the seat beside the old gray wizard and sat comfortably.

"To you as well, my dear girl." Gandalf smiled and sped his horse forward.

The silence did not last long as Gandalf ceased his songs.

"I am curious… Why did you land farther from the Shire than usual?" The wizard asked.

Elysia's lips quirked. "A flock of Crebain interrupted my usual route."

Gandalf whipped his head so abruptly for an old man. His pale eyes sharp and piercing.

"Have they spotted you?"

Elysia scoffed. "Of course not, Gandalf. You know who I am."

"Hmph, a troublesome apprentice that seemed to tangle herself in webs of trouble rivaling that of a particular hobbit?" Gandalf snidely remarked.

"You just won't let go of that one incident." Elysia deadpanned.

"My back was aching for a solid week because that one incident." He grumbled. "But now do enlighten me on your recent journey."

"One of my own settled in deep within Fangorn has warned me that there is something foul-"

"The times are growing darker, of course-"

"It is focusing around your White Wizard, Mithrandir." Elysia interrupted quickly.

"Saruman?" Gandalf frowned. "That's highly unlikely." Saruman was the head of the White Council and to assume evil festered around him was a dreadful assumption. But then again… dragon hunches were uncannily accurate.

Elysia did not argue her claim further and remained in silence until Gandalf continued,

"And any signs of Gollum?"

"No… The creature is hidden better than those sea worms in the water's abyss." A sigh escaped her nose, causing gray eyes to glance at her quickly but mindfully.

Gandalf cleared his throat. "Enough of this gloomy talk. You must be tired… In a hurry to return to the Shire?"

"You know I wouldn't miss this event for anything."

Eventually the fog dissipated and Elysia readjusted her hood to shield her eyes before basking in the warm sun.

"How is Bilbo?" Gandalf inquired.

Elysia simply jerked her head lazily to the side.

"Ask him."

There was a rustle in the brush and a familiar young hobbit burst into the clearing near the road. For once, Frodo Baggins was staring down Gandalf and Elysia.

"You're late." His arms were folded and his face was masked in a look of utmost seriousness.

Elysia remained silent and continued to bask lazily while Gandalf began to play along with their dear hobbit.

"A wizard is never late, Frodo Baggins… Nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to." Gandalf stated in severity. The two males gazed at each other unwaveringly until Gandalf gestured to the basking dragon by his side.

"Can't say the same for dragons."

"Hn." Elysia's plain grunt was the only thing that came from under the hood.

The dragon listened as the two men were unable to maintain their bearings. Laughter burst between them with a silent dragon in the middle. Then Frodo gave a leap.

"It's wonderful to see you Gandalf!"

If it weren't for Elysia's quick and steadfast reflexes, Frodo would have tackled her and fallen off the carriage. Fortunately for him, a female dragon was no fragile maiden. She caught Frodo quickly and gently, and Frodo, who always had faith in his dragon friend's abilities, immediately hugged both Gandalf and her. Gandalf chuckled and returned the affectionate embrace, secretly warmed greatly at Elysia's and Frodo's small interaction. It spoke volumes of her growth from an arrogant, isolated dragon.

"You didn't think I'd miss your Uncle Bilbo's birthday did you?" Gandalf's pale eyes twinkled with mirth as he set Frodo down onto Elysia's lap. The dragon paid no head and simply buckled Frodo to her toned frame with her arms.

The horse continued to trot while the three rode into the shire at a peaceful pace. The scent of pipe weed filled the air as the old wizard began smoke while he inquired Frodo about their dear old Bilbo.

"So how is the old rascal?" Gandalf asked Frodo. "I hear it's going to be a party of special magnificence."

"You know Bilbo. He's got the whole place in an uproar."

"Oh well, that should please him." Gandalf commented.

"Half the Shire is invited." Frodo exclaimed and Elysia added in, "The rest of them are turning up anyways."

Elysia was content to listen while Frodo enlightened Gandalf about Bilbo.

"Bilbo has been acting a bit odd lately… More than usual." There was a weight behind those words. Frodo seemed a little anxious.

"He's taken to locking himself in the study. He spends hours and hours pouring over old maps when he thinks I'm not looking… You've noticed too, Elly?"

"Of course. Little happens in Bag End that is beyond my notice, little one." Elysia stated. "Perhaps he is restless and desires another adventure. Doesn't seem very hobbit-like, but it seems like something Bilbo would do."

Frodo broke from his dazed gaze and his blue eyes focused on Gandalf with a bit of a suspicious edge. The gray Istari averted his eyes innocently, causing Frodo's lips to curl up.

"Alright then, keep your secrets."

Gandalf attempted continue his feigned innocence. It didn't fool any of them.

"But I know you have something to do with it." Frodo said in certainty.

Gandalf let out an indecipherable mumble.

Frodo smiled. "Before you came along, we Baggins were very well thought of." He explained. "Never had any adventures or did anything unexpected."

Gandalf pulled his pipe from his mouth. "If you're referring to the incident with the dragon, I was barely involved."

Elysia gave a loud snort. Gandalf pointedly ignored her while Frodo chuckled.

"All I did was…" Gandalf continued. "Give your uncle a little nudge out of the door.

Another snort.

Frodo laughed. "Whatever you did, you've been officially labeled a disturber of the peace."

The sound of children caught Elysia's attention. They squealed at the sight of the familiar pointy wizard hat and rushed towards the carriage with hopeful cheers. As Elysia expected, Gandalf eventually released a small burst of one of his wonderful fireworks.

"Did you bring the one I've designed." Elysia inquired. In her time accompanying Gandalf, she partook in the art of pyrotechnics.

"It's just the thing Bilbo would love to have in his party." Gandalf praised as assurance to him bringing the particular fiery artwork.

"Gandalf, I'm glad you're back." Frodo's sincerity always made Elysia feel a warm pride and even more fondness for him.

Gandalf seemed to be feeling the same. His twinkling eyes were warm.

"So am I, dear boy!" He said as Frodo leapt off of Elysia's lap and onto the plush grass.

Elysia smiled and stared at Frodo's retreating figure until he was out of sight within the trees.

"You've grown very fond of him, haven't you."

"How could I not, Mithrandir?" Elysia mused as she glanced at the wizard before she strayed her stormy eyes into a dazed distance. "It nice to find some comfort like this and like Frodo after everything that has happened."

"Indeed." Gandalf agreed.

"But I do agree with Frodo upon the matter of Bilbo… There's something off about the Baggins as of late. It makes my scales itch." Her statement troubled Gandalf into silence as they made their way to Bag End. While Elysia was content to go in like she did every day she returned from one of her trips, Gandalf knocked on the ground green door.

The grumpy voice of Bilbo made them crack a smile.

"No thank you! We don't want anymore visitors, well wishers, or distant relations!"

Elysia released a snort and simply opened the door. "What about very old friend?" She inquired as she pulled off her straps and placed Faersing and Silvindr next to their designated spot next to Bilbo's trunk. The place seemed messier than usual.

"Oh Elly! It's only you-"

"It's not only me, Bilbo." Elysia corrected.

And on cue, the gray Istari entered the pleasant abode of Bag End. Bilbo was taken aback by the sight.

"Gandalf…?" He whispered.

Gandalf smiled wider. "Bilbo Baggins…"

The Istari was a little startled by Bilbo's youthful appearance at the old age of 111. He hadn't been the only one. In Elysia's stay with the Baggins, she noticed that the hobbit was more resilient than others of his kind at the aging nature of time. But she wasn't complaining. To have dear Bilbo have continuous good health must be a blessing of the Valar—a blessing that perhaps was the reason for that itchy sensation of something amiss in Bag End.

While Elysia went off to raid the pantries, Gandalf observed the pleasant hobbit hole—and as expected, bumped into a few obstacles like the chandelier and the wooden beam. It has changed little since he last visited. He perused the shelves and smiled warmly at the wooden carvings decorating a particular shelf. There were thirteen dwarves, a wizard, a hobbit, and a small carving of a dragon perched there. To strangers, it would be a carving of the desolate dragon, but Gandalf knew far better than just some stranger. The warmth in his heart grew as he noticed other signs of Elysia and her content stay in Bag End.

The wall was decorated with her sketches and paintings. He admired one in particular for both its frame and image. Frodo in his tweens was sitting next to Bilbo looking happy as can be in the fields of the Shire. The marvelous sketch was framed elaborately with lacquered wood that had been carved to have a dragon decorating the borders with immaculate detail to the scales.

While Elysia, changed into her usual comfortable outfit, began devouring a pile of bread, cheese, salted pork, and just about anything else she could grab in the storage, Bilbo fussed over his wizard guest. Elysia's ear twitched and she propped her elbow on the table and rested her chin on her palm.

"The Sackville Baggins are coming." She notified nonchalantly as she chewed on her bread and stuffed cheese into her mouth.

Bilbo began to choke and as warned, somebody was furiously rapping at the door.

"Shall I do what I did last time and sharpen my sword while you open the door?" Elysia suggested as she ripped a piece of her salted pork with her sharp teeth.

Gandalf quirked an eyebrow while Bilbo simply huffed.

"No… I'm not at home." He hissed savagely. "Those Sackville Baggins… They're after the house! They've never forgiven me for living this long! I've got to get away from these confounded relatives hanging on the bell all day, never giving me a moment's peace!"

"If you want, I can even casually show of Faersing for you. The sword usually drives off anyone away."

Bilbo smiled weakly at the dragon. "No, but thank you for offering my dear." He then frowned a little at her large plate of food.

"Are you sure you want to eat that much? You might spoil your appetite for the feast."

Elysia gave him a look and continued to eat. Gandalf chuckled while Bilbo huffed and smiled.

"Right… Dragon's appetite. What am I even saying?"

He heaved another sigh and lifted the kettle from its place near the fire. Elysia took this as her cue to leave. It was time to let these two fellows catch up with each other and for Bilbo to confide with Gandalf in his leaving of Bag End to Frodo.

"I'll leave you fellows to sort things out and smoke with each other." She grabbed the loaf of bread, an extra apple, and held the slab of cured meat in her mouth before departing. Bilbo chuckled as she left them.

"It's hard to believe she's seen so much and lived much longer than me." He sighed, pouring Gandalf tea.

"She's still young by draconian standards."

~O~O~O~O~O~

Music and chatter filled the night air in Hobbiton. Occasionally fireworks would emit a loud crack of sound while showering the crowd in lights. Elysia had been content in helping her old master prepare some of the more complex explosives, but Gandalf wouldn't have any of it and promptly ushered the woman away to enjoy the party.

She took the courtesy of wearing one of her few dresses for the special occasion. Light blue cotton over a white poufy long sleeved tunic, the hem was trimmed just above her ankles, revealing her bare hairless slender feet. It was a simple dress, but Elysia had little taste for fancy garments weighing her down, and it did enough to flatter her. Her hair fell loosely around her in its usual glossy curls, and as she moved about the party in her usual quiet manner, she earned many looks of admiration.

Frodo's eyes brightened at the lovely sight of his beloved friend and hastily made room for her to sit on the bench with him. Elysia sat and smiled as she spotted Sam flushed madly while he danced with Rosie Cotton. Both Hobbit and dragon were well aware of Sam's fixation with the hobbit maiden. Her curly golden hair and radiant smile made her a popular lady amongst the single men of the Shire.

Then Frodo leapt to his feet and turned to Elysia with that spark in his eyes.

"Come on, Elly! Let's dance!" He grabbed her hand and gave her an insistent tug.

"Little one, I don't think-"Her reluctance began to melt under Frodo's pleading expression—this rascal of a hobbit was probably the first ever able to diminish a dragon's will with a mere stare.

She released a defeated sigh, and Frodo laughed at his small victory as he tugged her to the dancing crowd. Gandalf smiled as he unleashed a sparkling flock of butterflies from his fireworks, spotting the maiden that quite literally stood out from the tiny crowd. His eyes twinkled merrily in observing the dragon move light on her feet to the rhythm of the cheerful music. She spun and managed to dance with her smaller partner in a way that did not appear remotely foolish because of their difference. Her steps did well to maneuver her and follow Frodo's boisterous little movements. The sight endeared the old wizard's heart.

Eventually, he took a break from his fireworks and joined in the dance. Elysia's eyes widened in surprise and a delightful peal of laughter escaped her. Frodo giggled and backed away, allowing Elysia to have a dance partner that complimented more with her height. As the two old beings danced, Frodo became fascinated… Their dance was not at all romantic or intense. In fact, Gandalf looked rather clumsy in comparison to Elysia's smooth movements, but there was a certain unspoken connection between them.

While they enjoyed the party, mischief was brewing within. The devious pair was on the move, sneaking into the wagonload of fireworks. Pippin dug into the explosives of many shapes and sizes while Merry urged him to hurry. He picked up a particularly big and red dragon head shaped firework, making Merry gasp in delight. The design itself was promising something fantastic.

Meanwhile, Elysia saw a potential danger.

"Sackville Baggins at your six, Bilbo." She whispered into the said hobbits ear. Frodo and Bilbo immediately began to worm through the crowd to hide from their unpleasant relatives while Elysia simply stood and ate a delectable tart.

Bilbo and Frodo hid in her peripheral, glued to the wall of a tent as the accursed relatives came into view. There was no sign of Bilbo, but that odd lady friend of his was here so perhaps he was too. The grumpy looking pair seemed to size up the female, nudging each other to take the gamble and interact with the intimidating woman.

Then Elysia tilted her head and side looked at them with piercing eyes. They seemed to shrink down further, pinned like butterflies on needles.

"Are you in need of something?" Her voice was toneless. It gave away nothing of the glee in her spirit.

At the sound of her voice, the male seemed to shrivel. His wife then hastily shook her head and tugged her husband away. They must try their luck elsewhere.

Frodo chuckled as he stepped out of his hiding place and wrapped an arm around Elysia.

Elysia quirked her brow and smirked. "Never trifle with a drake."

Bilbo smiled at the two and sighed. Indeed, his heir to Bag End was in good and strong hands.

A loud racketing sizzle of fireworks being lit caught Elysia's attention. She whipped her head to the sky and blinked at the odd sight. Were her eyes playing tricks on her or did that flaming missile snag a tent? Gandalf never made such an obvious mistake. Then her eyes narrowed in disbelief as she frowned at the firework. It looked familiar.

_That's my handiwork. The one I've been working on… Gandalf promised me I would be the one to light it, so why-…. _

Despite being in her alternate form, Elysia gave a very dragon-like growl.

Hobbits began to rush frantically away from the firework as it morphed into the shape of a dragon. Frodo had a protective arm around Bilbo and crouched behind the skirt of his dragon.

Elysia didn't even flinch as the dragon shaped sparks flew past her. She was seething in irritation.

Her irritation slightly lessened as her handiwork erupted in a massive show of orange sparks just above the hilltops. The hobbits marveled at the beautiful sight while the true dragon quietly went to the source of her irritation.

Merry and Pippin, singed and covered in soot stood in proud awe at their mischievous deed.

"That was good." Merry said and Pippin agreed.

"Let's get another one." The Took suggested.

Then he felt a chill up his spine and suddenly, something snagged their collars in an unyielding grip. The hobbits found themselves lifted off the ground and at eye level with a fearsome pair of grey eyes.

"Merriadoc Brandybuck… And Peregrin Took." Her monotonous voice promised pain and fear.

"H-heeeey Elly…" Merry smiled sheepishly while Pippin bit his lip and trembled. Out of all the folks of the Shire that admonished their antics and disciplined them, Elysia Walkins was the one they feared the most… even more than Farmer Maggot when he raged with that scythe of his.

When Elysia said nothing but kept them in the air, Merry stammered on.

"W-wasn't that firework r-really something?"

Elysia's piercing gaze focused on Merry, causing him to whimper and cease his pitiful attempts at lightening the mood..

"Yes… It was really _something_… In fact… It was _my_ handiwork."

Merry's face paled under the layer of soot while Pippin finally spoke.

"W-well… Your handiwork is e-excellent."

They yelped as Elysia dropped them to the ground. There was no time to flee as her fingers immediately pinched their cheeks and yanked them painfully. What was the punishment this time? Was she going to hang them on a tree again? Or force them to hold buckets of cattle dung over their head?

It was much worse. They ended up cleaning the high piling stack of dishes at the party, and the worst part was that they were banned from eating the cake. The latter part almost brought Pippin to tears.

...

The folks waited upon Bilbo for his birthday speech. Elysia sat with Frodo near the front corner to prevent herself from being an obstacle for the smaller folks. Bilbo called out the hobbit families in the crowd and Elysia chuckled at his riddling remark after.

And then frozen claws seemed to seize her peace as she heard the voices.

Dark whispers… indecipherable but foreboding… Bilbo's voice seemed to be muffled under these whispers as they echoed in her mind. The rest of the crowd did not seem to hear it. They were raptly focused on the speech, something Elysia found impossible to do.

The whispers became fiercer as Bilbo pulled something out of his pocket. Elysia gritted her teeth and tried to shake the voices away, but they remained like gnats to a carcass.

Bilbo fidgeted with the golden looped clutched in his fingers, behind his back. "I regret to announce that this is the end… I'm going now… I bid you all a very fond farewell… goodbye."

Bilbo Baggins then vanished from sight into thin air.

But what disturbed Elysia was the whispering darkness, its departing words heard in crystalline clarity.

"_**-burzum-ishi krimpatul…"**_

Frodo jerked at the sound of a loud crack next to Elysia. Peering down, he frowned at the sight. Elysia had been gripping her stool so hard that she splintered the edge and took a chunk from the wood.

Looking at her face, he was taken aback by the evident unease in those widened gray blue eyes. It was an alien thing to witness Elysia appear so disturbed, almost frightened, and it unsettled him more than Bilbo's sudden disappearance.

"Elly… You alright?" He asked uncertainly.

The dragon lady remained as still as a statue. Frodo bit his lip nervously and grabbed her hand in his. "Elly?"

At the sound of his voice, Elysia finally snapped back into reality. She twitched and blinked out of her daze before turning to Frodo.

"What? Oh… Yes… I'm fine, Frodo." She hastily assured.

Frodo remained unconvinced and would not let go of her hand. "You're a lousy liar, Elly. Come, maybe a little food and ale will do you some good."

Elysia was too deep in her thoughts to argue as Frodo led her to the dining tables. He piled her plate with food and managed to grab a large slice of cake to satisfy the dragon's sweet tooth. Placing the food and the ale before her, he sat and leaned against her arm worriedly.

"Elly… You're worrying me. What has unnerved you so?"

The sound of his voice, soft, uncertain, and concerned had caught her attention. Elysia gazed down at Frodo and softened at his worry filled blue eyes.

"Forgive me, little one… I'm just shaken by your old uncle's uncanny display of magic."

His eyes requested her to elaborate and Elysia smiled as she began to nibble on a piece of sourdough bread.

"To vanish into thin air… or turn invisible… That is not an easy feat of magic, little one. Not easy at all…." That was an understatement.

The spell of invisibility was an art long lost in time, older than any elvish magic she could remember. So to see such blatant display of sorcery done by a Hobbit… Something wasn't right.

Frodo could only shrug, unable to comprehend the gravity of the situation. "Bilbo has always been odd."

"Yes… How odd indeed." Elysia mused as Frodo began to eat his own plate of food.

Pippin and Merry sat across from him looking a bit dejected with their own plate—piled high with food but not with a single morsel of the wonderful cake… Elysia huffed and stabbed her fork into her roasted pork. Without sparing the mischievous pair a glance, she pushed her large cake portion towards them. Frodo smiled into his meal while Pippin and Merry looked positively ecstatic.

At his bemused glance, Elysia simply shrugged.

"Today is meant for joy… I'll leave them to weep in stone cold misery on another day."

Her warning had Merry gulping and Pippin choking on his food, and Frodo laughed at the dragon's kind heart.

Elysia kept Frodo close to her tonight. They departed from the party, Frodo in merry spirits while Elysia was with some unspoken tension.

"Bilbo? Bilbo!" Frodo burst through the door with Elysia in tow. She hesitated before stepping into the hobbit hole. Something wasn't right this time. Something was looming over Bag End, and she didn't like how it grated against her scales like an impossible itch.

Her little one then spotted something golden on the floor. It was a ring. He picked it up curiously before looking around the house. Gandalf was mumbling to himself near the fire, smoking his pipe. Confused by the odd tension in the atmosphere after what meant to be a night of merrymaking, Frodo looked to Elysia.

"He's gone, isn't he?"

She only placed a hand on his shoulder. "It seems as though you are now the new Master of Bag End, little one."

Frodo hesitated as he wrapped his mind around the realization that his beloved uncle left. "He talked for so long about leaving… I didn't think he'd actually do it."

The peculiar gold band resting in his palm, he walked up to Gandalf. It was unbecomingly eerie for the wizard to be sitting in the dim light, smoke trailing from his hunched grey form.

"Gandalf?"

The old wizard turned and peered at the ring with an indecipherable expression; then smiled a smile that did not reach his pale eyes.

"Bilbo's ring… He's left you Bag End…" In his outstretched hand was an envelope.

Frodo hesitantly let the gold ring drop into the paper pocket, allowing Gandalf to seal the ring with a wax seal. Something was definitely off… Was it really necessary to seal the envelope? Elysia frowned and her sharp eyes skewered the wizard for an explanation, who pointedly ignored them.

"Keep it somewhere out of sight." He warned.

His whisper seemed to be directed more to Elysia than to Frodo. With those enigmatic words, Gandalf immediately began to prepare his own departure. He rushed for his staff and hat, causing much confusion in Frodo.

"Where are you going?"

"There are some things that I must see to." Gandalf's reply was curt and riddled as always.

"What things?"

"Questions…Questions that need answering."

Frodo was dismayed. "But you've only just arrived! I don't understand."

Gandalf stopped at the door and turned to the hobbit.

"… Neither do I…" He muttered. He finally locked eyes with Elysia and they both seemed to share some silent conversation. Elysia gave him a curt nod, and then the old wizard leaned forward and rested an aged hand on Frodo's shoulder.

"Keep it secret… Keep it safe."

At Gandalf's sudden departure, Frodo appeared a little dejected and confused. He turned to Elysia.

"Are you going to leave too?"

Elysia shook her head and smiled. "No, my little one… Close the door. You're letting the warmth out." While Elysia hadn't the slightest idea of what exactly was going on, she trusted her teacher with her life.

"My trip has made me tired… Care to share a bed, little one?" Both took great comfort at the idea, reminiscing back to Frodo's younger years when he slept in Elysia's warm embrace when dreams were bad, storms were loud, and nights were lonely.

As for Eslyia, she felt the need to keep Frodo a bit closer to her.

Frodo quickly hid the envelope deep in the trunk next to Faersing and Silvindr. Soon, Bag End was silent and dark while a hobbit nestled in the large bed with his beloved dragon friend. It was a truly odd sight if one pondered about it; a hobbit sleeping in a dragon's nest with the dragon, but Frodo thought nothing of it. He felt content and comforted by her presence.

With Elysia he was never cold. Perhaps it was a dragon thing, but she was always warmer than any other being he met.

Elysia's taller frame curled protectively around Frodo like a feline around kitten. As he lied there, the excitement and energy spent on the evening brought a wave of tiredness to him.

"May the stars watch over you, little one. Pleasant dreams." Her soothing voice and warmth lulled Frodo to a peaceful sleep. Elysia soon did the same, but she kept her senses alert to the slightest sound.

There wasn't anything amiss in the Shire, or so it seemed, but something seemed off. Elysia could feel it in her bones. A storm was brewing.


	3. Chapter 3

I don't own LOTR. I own my OC.

* * *

><p>Chapter 3: A New Unexpected Journey<p>

_Long before the coming of the Istari, during a time of beginnings, the Valar wove life through their songs. _

_Their beloved Eru Illuvitar had given them the blessings of free will, and with it they sought to sing a harmony of creation as one choir._

_It was a blessing most of them never thought to abuse for the love they had for their divine sire was great. Many of the Maiar followed suit, obedient but free to exist in whichever form they chose, they remained undyingly loyal in serving their noble brethren._

_In hopes and intentions to honor the Valar and Eru Illuvitar, a few Maiar combined their artistry and began to change themselves, determined to shift into creatures that embodied the might of nature. _

_From their vision, creatures of great, wild beauty were born: the dragons._

_ The scaled beings of old were proud, intelligent, and fearsome beings that took little interest in the matters of Middle Earth. They reigned in nature, connected to the woven world through ancient magic even they could not fully comprehend. They took to the earthen realms deep in the forests and mountains, to the skies where their freedom went beyond the horizon, to the flames that nurtured both life and death in its heated passion. Some took to the seas, deep in the watery abyss to become a part of sailor tales. There were some that roamed even the realms of perpetual ice and snow in the far North. _

_Clans of each realm and element began to form in time. _

_Eventually, there came a clan that conquered the sky and everything in it. _

_The Dragons of the Storm… they were the greatest of drakes ever to take flight._

_A marvel amongst their scaly kin, they were rumored to wield the tempest as their own, born by lightning rather than fire. With unrivaled aerial talents, they were a clan of dragons seen as nobility amongst their scaled kin. _

_They dwelled within the highest peaks of Arda upon a sacred place known as the Eyrie, a place where the stars could kiss outstretched hands. _

_Yet, this place that was revered to be the ground of heavens soon became Hell. _

_In the aftermath of the wars between brotherhoods and kin, the Eyrie was destroyed in storm of blood and ash. As the haunting calamity became a grim part of draconian history, the Eyrie was given a new name by the surviving dragon-kind. The Ristvak'baen, the Place of Great Sorrow. It was a grave reminder of the wrath and ruin brought by Morgoth's malice._

~O~O~O~O~O~

Foul black clouds poisoned the sky. Thunder clapped and storms clouds of noxious smoke brewed above the lands of Sauron's domain. The sudden violent turn of volcanic activity in Mount Doom was like a heartbeat quickening in excitement.

Not far from the hellish dungeons of Barad-dur, a fortress of death and darkness began to stir. Every rock and grain of dirt screamed of blood chilling evil in Minas Morgul. The toxic green light illuminating the citadel of dark sorcery foretold the foul demons lurking within its behemoth walls.

The gates groaned like miserable souls.

As they opened, nine black riders were unleashed from the jaws of their entrance. Tall, terrifying, and cloaked in shadow and death, the nine forced their black steeds to move fast and relentlessly.

Their master has brought upon a task, and as the dark lord's faithful servants, they shall see that the task is fulfilled, even if they must pave a way in blood to fulfill it.

~O~O~O~O~O~

The Hobbits were as festive and fun as always as they delved in their entertainment. Elysia listened in silent content as Merry and Pippin sang and danced on top of a table in the Green Dragon with Frodo merrily prancing around them. Despite his beloved uncle's sudden departure, Frodo reveled in becoming an official adult and the master of Bag End. Elysia smiled as Frodo relished the newfound freedom. An adult Frodo may be considered, but to Elysia he was still her little one.

The older Hobbits smoked their pipe weed and complained of the strange folk crossing the Shire. Elysia smiled. As the years passed, the hobbits have adjusted to having her—a strange outsider herself—residing in Hobbiton, but some things just never changed with the Halflings.

They complained of dwarves passing by and more unpleasant creatures sighted in the mountains, no doubt goblins.

At the mentions of goblins and war, Elysia scowled. So, even the hobbits were noticing the growing shadow in Middle Earth. Elysia was tempted to take a short trip to those rumored mountains infested with goblins. They were too near to the Shire for her liking; she would investigate and most probably commit a goblin massacre if the numbers were in her favor.

As Frodo came and cheerfully offered ale to the table where the gossip brewed, the smoking hobbits then spotted Elysia with her own tankard of ale. She sat in her usual cool mode, legs crossed and back against the table in lazy grace, silent as a statue. The flame light of the candles and fireplace made her stormy eyes glitter with a cryptic edge while the lidded manner in which she stared vacantly made the squirm in minor unease. Perhaps she felt offended at hearing them talk of strange folk so disdainfully.

"Er… I mean… Not all outsiders are trouble…" One hobbit quickly retracted his previous words.

Frodo noticed them glance uneasily at Elysia's lonesome figure and chuckled. Elysia's silvered gaze whipped to them, but her head remained unmoving. A hobbit even flinched a little, but Sam and Frodo knew better. It was just Elysia's nature to seem so… unapproachable. But time and time again, Elysia had proven to them to be rather harmless… at least when they were on her better side.

Frodo's smile did not waver as he lifted his tankard and gestured to Elysia. The female dragon smirked and raised her tankard slightly before she drained it. Frodo turned back to the hobbits and rolled his eyes.

"Oh come now, Elysia is no outsider at this point. She resided in Bag End before I was born."

"Her company is more peaceful than Gandalf's at least. You don't hear her off meddling and creating havoc and odd stories. Although, she still makes the hairs on my feet stand on end sometimes." Another muttered.

Frodo fought the urge to giggle and merely nodded, drinking his ale. If only they knew of the adventures Elysia went through.

Elysia slowed her pace as she walked with Sam and Frodo in the night. Frodo comforted Sam and attempted to boost his confidence to court Rosie Cotton. Elysia smirked at their conversation. She grew fond of Frodo's gardener enough to consent in Frodo's request to give the Loivissa to Sam. The gardener would appreciate the Loivissa's one of a kind beauty.

Unsurprisingly, in order to keep a stout place in Rosie's heart, Sam presented the flower to Rosie as a courting gift, delighting the woman and putting him in her favor against his many competitors for her hand.

Samwise Gamgee had always admired Elysia, though not romantically for his heart belonged to the barmaid of the Green Dragon. His admiration was akin to great respect and curiosity. She could be so secretive at times, but she was generous. And because of her generosity, he managed to bring a lovely extra sparkle in Rosie Cotton's mesmerizing eyes.

They parted ways as the path to Bag End began to near. Sam bid them good night and a little tipsy he stumbled and walked unevenly on his hairy fit.

A warm hand suddenly gripped Frodo's shoulder. Elysia bent low near his ear and whispered.

"Stay close to me, little one. We have an uninvited guest."

The hobbit frowned and obeyed. Who would barge into Bag End? Hard to believe anyone in the Shire would have the audacity to break in.

As though Elysia read his mind, she spoke lowly. "It's no local from the shire."

They opened the round green door of the Baggins estate and Elysia took a few sniffs. There was the slightest scent of a horse, some dirt, and most prominently sweat and anxiety, and….

_Ah… _She recognized this scent anywhere and stopped in her tracks. Frodo looked around the house in nervous wonder. The window was open and a loose breeze caused loose papers to float free before falling to the floor eerily.

"Elly, who-" Frodo released a gasp as a hand smacked down hard on his shoulder and spun him around. Elysia didn't bother to turn but she spoke with a sharp edge.

"Mithrandir… What is it?" Something has greatly unnerved the Istari, not an easy feat.

Gandalf did not answer, instead he responded with a question aimed at Frodo. "Is it secret? Is it safe?"

He looked tired and old—older than usual—as sweat beaded his forehead and matted his gray hairs to his face.

Gandalf remained on high alert as Frodo shuffled through the trunk. Elysia walked to the fireplace and tossed some firewood into the hearth. Without bothering to grab the tinderbox, she simply stretched her neck, inhaled with a small hiss, and spat or "fire spat" as Frodo and Bilbo liked to call it. A small bullet of fiery white blue struck the wood and ignited a warm flame that spread within a few heartbeats. Soon the fire was roaring and warming the cold room.

Frodo yanked out the envelope from the trunk, and without hesitation the wizard snatched it. Frodo voiced his surprise as Gandalf tossed it into the fire.

"What are you doing?" He demanded, startled by the wizard's brusque behavior.

Elysia spotted the golden gleam of the finger accessory as the paper unfurled in the flame. The ring's gleam was admirable, but something about it made Elysia's skin rise with gooseflesh.

With a pair of tongs, Gandalf plucked the gold band.

"Hold out your hand, Frodo… It's quite cool."

As soon as the ring landed in the hobbit's palm, Elysia twitched involuntarily.

Mithrandir's next question perplexed her.

"What can you see?"

A small frown escaped her usually stoic features. What else was there to see but gold? Was there something that they were supposed to see or something only Frodo was supposed to see?

"Can you see anything?" Gandalf pressed as he turned away and put his hands on his hips, wary and deep in thought.

After a lapse of heavy silence, Frodo could only shrug as he rotated the ring with his fingers.

"… Nothing… There's nothing." Frodo was confused. What was Gandalf having him look for?

The gray wizard's tension began to loosen. Elysia's frown widened and her brow quirked, casting the old Istari a questioning glare. He was acting odder than usual, what had him so rattled?

"Wait."

Frodo's voice made the two old beings freeze. Elysia's ear twitched and her head gave a slight jerk. There were eerie whispers echoed around them again.

Gandalf felt dread boil in his gut.

"There are… markings." Frodo frowned at the flame lit foreign calligraphy unveiled from the golden surface. "It's some form of elvish… I can't read it."

Elysia turned and gazed at Frodo. The whispers began to hush, as though they knew she had come to a realization and were waiting for her response.

Her lungs stopped functioning at the sight of the bright fire hued glyphs shining from the golden band.

Her heart wanted to deny it. It screamed that it wasn't possible. It shouldn't be possible. Of every place, every nook and cranny searched and unsearched how was it possible that it was_ here_?

"There are few who can." She barely registered Gandalf's grave voice and he confirmed her terrifying realization.

"The language is that of Mordor, which I will not utter here."

Frodo turned to Gandalf. "Mordor?" The foulest, most sinister place in Middle Earth?

Gandalf could only gaze at him with a hollow stare.

"In the Common Tongue it says;

One ring to rule them all.

One ring to find them.

One ring to bring them all.

And in the darkness, binds them."

She finally found the Forsworn's Ring. After years and years of searching for the ring of Sauron's power and possible bane, it was right here in the Shire… right here in the hands of her little one. Now all the gaps began to fill; Bilbo's trick, the whispers, and the itching sensation in her scales…

Unable to contain her incredulity, Elysia all but snarled.

"WHAT?!"

...

They say quietly the dining room of Bag End, in tensions so thick that Silvindr would have difficulty cutting it. Frodo was preparing them much needed tea while Gandalf smoked his pipe to calm his nerves. Elysia's face was indecipherable. Stormy eyes scrutinized the golden band centered on the wooden table.

"This is the One Ring." He stated gravely. "Forged by the dark lord Sauron in the fires of Mount Doom, taken by Isildur from the hand of Sauron himself."

Elysia wore a pensive gaze. It brought great surprise and disbelief to her people at the news of Sauron's supposed defeat by the hands of the Free People, specifically man.

Of course her people didn't rejoice. They became sardonic, bitingly cynical, when they also heard of man's foolish choice to keep the ring as some kind of trophy. While dragons took trophies, they wanted none in this war. They wanted nothing of that foul Forsworn to exist even as a token of triumph after his heinous sins against their kind. Something of that evil was bound to have a curse, and they were right.

Frodo began to understand, slowly. "Bilbo found it." He said. "In Gollum's cave."

"Unbelievable…." Elysia muttered tonelessly, sipping her tea. "Yet… it fits the puzzle."

"Yes.. For 60 years, the Ring laid quiet in Bilbo's keeping." Gandalf whispered. "Prolonging his life, delaying old age…. But no longer… Evil is stirring in Morder. The Ring has woken, it heard its master's call."

"But he was destroyed… Sauron was destroyed." Frodo said, disbelieved and determined.

At the sound of the Dark Lord's name, the ring began to emit whispers that even Frodo and Gandalf could not ignore. Elysia gave a soft hiss.

"Wretched piece of metal." She cursed darkly.

Frodo looked at her and almost flinched at the sharp slit quality that her pupils took.

Gandalf spared the dragon a sympathetic glance before he locked eyes with Frodo.

"No Frodo… The spirit of Sauron endured… His life force is bounded to the Ring and the Ring survived…" Gandalf's voice dripped with loathing and dread.

"Sauron has returned."

Fear filled those blue pools. The darkness and misery of Sauron's reign were things so great that they became a legend, a myth for Hobbit children to hear.

"His orcs have multiplied… His fortress of Barad-dur is rebuilt in the land of Mordor. Sauron needs only this ring to cover all the lands in a second darkness."

As Gandalf continued, Elysia wandered into the dark depths of her mind. Memories that long haunted her began to stir. Old wounds began to come forth, scars splitting open. The smell of blood, the crying songs of despair howled by the jaws of her kin, the darkness, the soils soaked with dragon gore, the _fear_…

The death… The plea...

A last promise...

_G-go… live._

***CRACK***

Frodo and Gandalf jumped at the loud sound of something breaking. Pieces of broken clay clattered on the table. Elysia's grip on her cup had been so powerful that she shattered the glazed pottery. Gandalf said nothing but the sorrow was evident in his pale ancient eyes.

Frodo, anxious at the hardened and haunted edge he had never seen before on the dragon he thought he knew, quickly gripped his beloved friend's upper arm. She was rigid and ashen.

"Elly?" He began to fear for his friend. His dear Elly never lost her composure like this… As a matter of fact, she never lost her composure at all.

Elysia would not look at him. She did not return his gaze, and she did nothing to assure him like she always would.

"They were dark times Frodo… Dark times…" Gandalf stated. "…For those that had suffered a firsthand encounter of Sauron's malice, it was an unending nightmare."

"Mithrandir… Letta ilerneo abr pömnuria helar!" Elysia glared at Gandalf.

Her words were harsh and curt, confusing Frodo. Elysia taught him little of the ancient language her kin spoke. He could only decipher the "stop speaking".

Gandalf seemed to have understood. He only gave a grave nod before gesturing to Frodo with his pipe. "You are frightening your hobbit."

In Elysia's own time, Gandalf hoped she would enlighten Frodo on her past. From what he knew of what Frodo knew, Elysia had only detailed the young hobbit on the better instances, protecting Frodo from knowledge of her demons, filling him only with sweet tales of exploration and lore.

Elysia quickly masked her emotions and wrapped an arm around Frodo like a mother hawk with its chick. Frodo bit his lip, displeased that they were being vague with him.

"It's the Ring, isn't it?"

Elysia did not utter a word, confirming Frodo's worry. Determined, he stood up and grabbed the Ring. It must never be found, and it's obvious that it brings great discomfort to his friend.

"Alright then! We put it away, we keep it hidden, we shall never speak of it again. No one knows it's here, do they…" He waited for Gandalf or Elysia to assure him as he looked for a safe spot, but he was only met with a dreadful silence.

Turning slowly to the tall wizard, he stared into those sunken eyes.

"Do they, Gandalf?"

The wizard stared and forced his words. Each weighed heavily upon him and Elysia.

"There is one other that knew that Bilbo had the Ring…."

The words were like a knife. Elysia's nails dragged along the hardwood surface of the table and stabbed into her palm as her fist clenched.

"I looked everywhere for the creature, Gollum…" Gandalf solemnly admitted. "But the enemy found him first."

Elysia's jaws clenched as she listened to Gandalf's explanation. So that was where that wretched gremlin was. It was no wonder she could not track him. At all costs, she avoided the dark storm clouds above the realm of Mordor's eastern regions. They were the few places she would never investigate for fear of being too close to the Eye.

"Shire… Baggins?" Frodo whispered. "But that would lead them hear!" He was terrified now. He could see the chaos this news would bring.

Elysia felt awful guilt and despair beat her heart. All these years she tried hard to protect the Shire, but even one dragon alone was no match for the resolve of a Dark Lord. Whatever horrors that the Forsworn would send to the Shire, she could not defend it, and it frustrated her.

The Shire would burn, the green fields and the clear streams would run red, and in the place of good food, passionate farming, warm shelter, brewing of ales, and smoking of pipe weed will be nothing but barren wastelands shrouded in darkness.

The hills of this place would become nothing more than grave mounds.

The laughter and cheer replaced by screams and despair.

The green consumed by black.

No more would things grow in the Shire… In the place of nurturing life will be nothing but death. All because of this accursed Ring.

Frodo was not capable of imaging the horrors Elysia was, but the mere idea made him frantic.

"Take it Gandalf!" He demanded desperately. "Take it!"

Gandalf became equally uneasy. "No Frodo."

"You MUST take it!"

"You cannot offer me this Ring!"

No he could not, neither could she. For both Elysia and Gandalf could not imagine the horrible effects the Ring of Power would have on an Istari like Gandalf or a dragon as herself. The magic thick in their veins was a great strength yet a terrible weakness.

"But I'm giving it to you!" Frodo was desperate and confused. Why won't the wise wizard take it?

"Don't tempt me Frodo!" Gandalf snapped, eyes glassy and full of fear.

As Gandalf began to explain his reasons, the reality of it all slowly sank to Frodo. Comprehending Gandalf's imploring gaze as he agreed that the Ring must not remain in the Shire, Frodo swallowed hard and mustered some courage not unlike how Bilbo had done many times on his journey. Pride filled Elysia as the young hobbit closed his hand and held the Ring.

"What must I do?"

...

Elysia moved with soundless haste. She entered her small room and all but ripped open her wardrobe while Gandalf spoke hastily to Frodo who began to pack as well.

Grabbing things she only needed, she tossed them onto her plush bed. A worn but still sturdy rucksack landed on the mattress, followed by only a few articles of clothing. Her scales and horns were telling her to be prepared for the worst. It would be a very long, arduous, and dangerous journey.

Rewrapping her chest bindings more securely, she pulled a dark blue tunic over her lissome frame before yanking on a pair of loose black trousers. Female wanderers with weapons were stranger sights than males, and Elysia wanted to attract as little attention as possible. She then whipped around a hooded, sleeveless robe of equal hue to her tunic and quickly donned the outerwear. Its black edged hem went down to her thighs. Wrapping the robe around her form just enough to pass as a male—albeit a lanky male—and not rustle up to make too much noise when she moved, she wrapped a raven sash around her waist and tied it at her hip.

A leather belt came over the sash to lessen the noise when she moved, and the hip belt allowed her to hide a few set of small but dangerous throwing blades under a flap of leather. She strapped on leather shoulder pads and thin leather arm guards. The material was meant less for protection and more for keeping the loose sleeves tucked from snagging on anything.

Grabbing her sack, she hesitated when she spotted a certain item lying on her shelf. Elysia quickly made up her mind and plucked the item, shoving it into the bag. Now was not the time to hesitate.

"-at the inn of the Prancing Pony." Frodo listened intently to Gandalf's instructions as he attempted to pack as fast as he could.

"And the ring will be safe the-" He froze at the sight of Elysia. His eyes widened at her attire. The style of her clothing wasn't very different from her usual travel attire in that it consisted of dark and dull colors. Yet there was blatant dissimilarity that made this one stand out from the rest.

This time, Elysia not only looked ready for travel, she appeared ready to strike. Frodo was beginning to empathize with the neighbors that feared Elly Walkins.

Gandalf noticed Frodo stopped listening to him and followed the hobbit's awed and somewhat nervous gaze to the female dragon as she began to strap Faersing to her back and Silvindr to her hip with a curved double edged dagger to compliment the falchion.

Her wavy raven locks shadowed her stoic face, accentuating the fierce battle-ready countenance. Elysia noticed their scrutiny as she began to twist and tie her hair in a braid. A few shorter strands already escaped her grasp and began to frame her face.

Frowning and quirking a brow, she asked.

"What?"

Gandalf leaned on his staff with a thoughtful look. "I haven't seen you wear something like that since the battle for the Lonely Mountain. You look like a ranger under cloak and dagger, my dear dragon."

Elysia huffed at his comment, blowing at the uneven fringe resting on her forehead. "Better that than resembling some elven damsel frolicking about with two swords. You know how wary the folks of Bree are, Mithrandir."

Tucking her braid in the pouch of her hood, she wrapped a long thin black cloth around her neck that served to conceal her face.

Frodo managed to break out of his stupor and packed the last of the food items for their journey. Gandalf returned to a graver state, but the sight of Elysia ready and steadfast gave some relief and eased some of his tension.

"I must see the head of my order, he is both wise and powerful." His confidence made Elysia narrow her eyes.

She fought the urge to snort, but Gandalf managed to catch her indignant reaction. Before he could chide or argue, Elysia simply remarked,

"Say whatever you like and defend that pompous old sorcerer, but I trust you more than him, however powerful and wise he may be."

Gandalf twisted his lip for a snarky look before returning attention to Frodo.

"You'll have to leave the name of Baggins behind you. That name is not safe outside the Shire."

Frodo nodded, adjusting his jacket. Gandalf helped him put on his cloak and pack while Elysia left to gather a few more things for their journey. Gandalf handed him a walking stick.

"Travel only by day, and stay off the road." He warned.

"I can cut across countries Gandalf." Frodo assured as he pocketed the Ring.

A sense of Déjà vu overwhelmed Gandalf as he recalled how Bilbo stood like that, albeit a bit frayed in the arduous journey, but looking as courageous and determined as Frodo is at the moment.

The gray Istari rested his hands on his hips and sighed with a nod. It wasn't long ago, in his standards, when Bilbo stood in that same manner. Small, but standing firm and standing determined to do what was right.

"Hobbits truly are amazing creatures. You can learn all that there is to learn about their ways in a month, yet after a hundred years they can still surprise you."

Frodo returned the old man's smile. Their cheery moment was interrupted by a snap and rustle of the bushes just outside the window.

"Lay down." Gandalf hissed and Frodo immediately obeyed. The wizard held his staff and crouched as he crept towards the bush.

Just as he jabbed hard at the rustling bush, Elysia came in.

"Gandalf wai-… Oh nevermind." She simply crossed her arms and waited as Gandalf promptly grabbed the skulking culprit eavesdropping on them, and with force belied by his old appearance, he tossed a familiar, rather pudgy little hobbit onto the table.

As Gandalf interrogated the gardener, Elysia tilted her head.

"You hobbits are curious creatures." She muttered to Frodo. He glanced at her and she elaborated.

"If I haven't lived amongst you little folk for all these years, it would take tedious amounts of effort to sense or track you. Curious, how those large hairy feet of yours are so nimble and quiet. Hobbits are such stealthy folk."

Frodo smiled. "Bilbo said that was why he was chosen for the journey to Erebor."

"And ironically, that _burglar_ tended to get himself into quite troublesome situations. I leave him momentarily, and I find him trying to bargain with trolls." Elysia deadpanned before shoving on her better pair boots up to her knees.

The thin but durable soles of the boots weren't as clumpy as her usual footwear. It would make for a quieter stride. Lacing the side up for a snug fit, Elysia Walkins stood up.

With an air of finality in her preparation, she reached back and pinched her hood, propping it up and over her head. She then turned and under the shadow of the mysterious hood, Frodo found those piercing pale eyes meet his blue ones with familiar warmth.

"Are you dressed warm enough, little one? It's going to rain at some point…."

...

"Come along, Samwise! Keep up." Gandalf was most impatient and grumpy as they travelled through the misty fields at the chilly early morn of the Shire. Frodo and Elysia walked behind the wizard and his brown steed while a few paces behind, a nervous gardener followed.

Elysia appeared to be calm as she stared forward, but internally she was wincing and fighting the urge to sigh in exasperation at the ruckus Sam made in his haste to keep up.

His pack jostled with pots and pans clanging against a large, hastily filled pack. As to why the hobbit would need to bring-what Elysia deemed to be—a preposterously large assortment of things, the dragon had naught the slightest of a clue.

She was able to sniff out and see few of the many items Sam carried: sausages, a blanket, bread, spices—now why in the skies did this hobbit carry so many spices?—, some dried meat, cooking item, cooking item, cooking item, and those pots and pans that made an unbearable racket. Samwise Gamgee seemed to be prepared for a picnic.

They waded through the thick fields of flowering vegetation while Gandalf warned them of the dangers lurking in every corner.

"Be careful… The enemy has many spies… Birds… Beasts." He stopped and scanned the perimeter with those sage eyes before focusing upon the young master of Bag End.

"Is it safe?"

Frodo put a hand over his pocket for assurance, feeling the hard lump of the golden bang through the cloth. Gandalf bent down to eye level with Frodo.

"Never put it on, for the agents of the dark lord will be drawn to its power and to some of us around you, its power has a poisonously crippling risk." Frodo knew whom Gandalf spoke of, and he was determined not to put his dragon companion in peril.

"Remember… The Ring is trying to get back to its master." Gandalf whispered. "It wants to be found."

He gave the hobbit a pat on the shoulder before directing his attention to Elysia. Within two short strides, he was shoulder to shoulder with his old apprentice.

"You must take extra precautions to keep your identity concealed." He whispered fiercely. "Unless the need for it is ultimately dire and even then… You _must_ avoid reverting to your draconian form… With the Ring so close in proximity and the activity rising within Mordor, I fear for your safety, my dear."

"And I for yours, Gandalf…." She turned and gazed at him long and hard. "I shall heed your warning as I always have, but in return I beseech you to heed mine… My kinsman senses something foul festering in Isengard… Keep your staff ready and Glamdring sharp… For I do not know if it is the wizard that irks me or the depressing view of that black tower of his, but _something… something _isn't right there."

The wizard hesitated briefly, assessing the unwavering woman that only reached up to his shoulders. Alas, time was short so his eyes crinkled and he smiled sadly and simply rested a gnarled hand on her shoulder.

"It pains me to force you to leave the Shire like this… You've even managed snag a name here, Elysia Walkins."

"Yes… I am ever so fond of that pun of a name." She mused half-heartedly.

"May good fortune rule over you, my dear Brightscales." Gandalf said earnestly.

"And may the stars watch over you, my old Ebrithil*."

They gazed at Gandalf's retreating figure as he urged his horse to gallop with haste. Eventually the dragon and the two hobbits were left to their own devises. While Frodo nervously scanned his surroundings, Elysia remained calm.

"Come, little one… Sam… We must make haste."

Frodo and Sam struggled to keep up with Elysia's long strides and quick pace. They traversed the great fields of the Shire, and Elysia caved and took one last good long look at her surroundings; the lush green grass, the hearty wheat fields, it was the distinct sight of tranquility. She wanted to memorize it.

There was a growing feeling that she wouldn't be back here any time soon.

This place became dear to her, and in many ways it healed her heart of many sorrows. In her far stretched immortal span of life, the Shire was naught but a small portion. Yet, that small portion made all the difference. The Shire became her home. A part of her longed to make the children laugh one last time and to give a little warning to the farmers of a downpour soon to come, she wished to walk through the weekend markets and haggle with the merchants that came and went.

But alas, she was a dragon bound by her honor and duty. If anything, the Ring would soon be bound for Rivendell, and the elvish lord residing within would without a doubt summon a council amongst the free people. If the pieces were played right, Elysia would act as ambassador to the council, and as promised to the Eldest and to her kinsmen, she would do what she can to aid the Free people in their war against the Forsworn.

Her thoughts were distracted when they crossed the line from the golden wheat fields to the tall green corn crops. Sam had stopped at the line with a thoughtful and rather sullen look.

"This is it."

Elysia and Frodo turned.

"This is what, Sam?" Frodo inquired.

"If I take one more step…" Sam looked up at the two travelers looking more at ease than he did. Frodo had a purposeful walk while Elysia took her strides as if wandering far from the Shire was a daily thing—which wasn't all that off from the truth…

"It'll be the farthest away from home I've ever been." He finished.

Frodo empathized more than Elysia who simply took on a patient look under the hood. The master of Bag End encouraged his gardener to move forward and take that single step.

"Come on, Sam." He wrapped and arm around the hobbit. "Remember what Bilbo used to say."

Elysia began to reminisce of her times with his uncle. Sam wasn't like Bilbo or Frodo. Their Tookish side ushered them forward and out of the Shire to a greater adventure with the ease of a bird taking to the sky. They always knew of a greater world beyond the borders of a Shire, but to Samwise, the Shire was his world. Who knew what lied ahead, beyond the Shire? Their path was clouded.

_There's no knowing where you'll be swept off to, indeed my dear Bilbo Baggins._

Elysia became somewhat mollified of her irritation with Sam's raucous pack when he cooked them an enticing meal of sausage slices and bread. The sky darkened, and they stopped to rest for the night at the base of a tree, well hidden within the brush. Elysia was perfectly content and tempted to push forward and travel in the dark, but the hobbits were weary. They were not used to such long treks—they haven't even left their Shire, not once.

Not needing as much sleep, she evaded her slumber and sat like a watchful warden in the canopies above the Halflings. Her dark clothes rendered her invisible. She listened to Sams grumbling and complaints about the uncomfortable ground. She could empathize with that. She quite liked the plush bed she had in the Shire. If only they an immense dragon sized one for the Eldest. Valzinjr would be most pleased at the new and less stiff sleeping nest, but then again… If the old dragon had one of those, he would probably sleep eternally.

Elysia smiled at the amusing mental image of a massive bed for the Great White Dragon.

~O~O~O~O~O~

For a wise old Istari, Gandalf felt like an utter fool. Nausea swam in his gut as he began to realize the dreadful truth of Saruman the Wise.

_Indeed, the dragon was right… Something foul has festered in Isengard and Saruman…_

He moved his glare from the foul Pilantiri to the powerful wizard he always respected. Saruman held his glare with a patronizing stare, pale, gnarled, sharp hand grasped on his staff with a smug power hungry air that Gandalf found more putrid and wicked than an orc's carcass.

Hope for Frodo still remained, for the wizard has left him in good hands. However, Gandalf felt hope waning for himself. May the stars watch over _him_…

Sam managed to weave through the towering corn fields onto a clearer little path. His curls bounced as he shook his head back and forth before looking around.

He was alone.

~O~O~O~O~O~

Panic welled inside him. Sam began to walk frantically.

"Mr. Frodo?... Frodo?!" He began to quicken his pace as he looked for the young master. Frodo entered the small path along with Elysia, looking mildly startled. Same sighed in relief.

"I thought I lost you."

Frodo frowned. "What are you talking about?" He asked, perplexed by Sam's distress.

Elysia remained silent and stared into the fields with a distant expression of scrutiny. While she was taller than her hobbit companions, the corn fields managed to obscure her vision with their robust height. However, her ears were catching something rustling nearby.

Meanwhile, Sam turned a little exasperated. "It's just something Gandalf said."

"What did he say?"

"'Don't you lose him Samwise Gamgee'" Sam did a poor impression of the wizard. "..and I don't mean to."

Frodo held back a snort as he smiled. "Sam, we're still in the Shire, what could possibly happen?"

As if Frodo had jinxed their peaceful fortune, something rammed into Sam and toppled him over. Frodo stared, startled at the sudden sight of a very familiar hobbit. Then another rustle came and another "something" burst from the crops.

The second "something" rammed into Elysia, but the dragon was hardly fazed. With a small oomph, the "something" bounced off of Elysia's unmoving form and collided with Frodo, who wasn't as physically steadfast as the dragon and tumbled over in a messy heap of curly hair and vegetables.

Elysia gazed flatly at the Halflings while they attempted to regain their bearings like a ditzy group of newly born hatchlings. She was not amused by the sudden addition to their travelling group. Of all the beings they could have encountered, they encounter the devious Brandybuck and foolish Took.

"Frodo!" The said Took stared down at the startled Baggins. "Merry! It's Frodo Baggins!"

The Brandybuck began to stand as he brushed himself off and greeted him "Hello Frodo!" delighted that they ran into a friend of theirs… Quite literally.

However, there was a hobbit that was not quite delighted at the meeting. Sam grabbed Pippin and tossed him off of the stunned Baggins.

"Gerroff him!" He growled.

Merry began to gather their bundle of newly gathered crops, piling them promptly into Sam's arms.

"You've been into farmer Maggot's crops." Merry and Pippin froze at the monotonous voice.

Dread and regret began to boil unpleasantly in their stomach as they recognized that smoky timbre. They swallowed hard as they stood up and turned to face _the voice_. They hadn't noticed, in their haste, that they intercepted a company of three not two.

Pippin almost whimpered. Elysia Walkins looked particularly more intimidating that usual in her strange attire. Those pale stormy eyes held a feline glow under the shadow of the dark hood and by the Shire, are those _swords_ that she is carrying?

"E-Elly!" Merry managed to squeak. The sapphire pommel of Faersing seemed to wink dangerously at him.

The sound of barking dogs and a very angry farmer not far away in the cornfield interrupted them. Farmer Maggot was angry enough to carry a scythe with him. Gnashing his teeth nervously, Merry quickly grabbed Frodo and Pippin and ran the opposite way, into the field of corn. Sam was still frozen with the vegetables in his arms until Elysia sighed and grabbed him by the collar, forcing him to run along and follow the hobbits before she followed suit. Now was not the time to deal with a raging hobbit wielding a scythe.

"I don't know why he's so upset! It's only a couple of carrots!" Merry cried as he ran through the thick field.

"And some cabbages!" Pippin added. "And some of those-"

Elysia tuned out the hobbits with an inward sigh. She was sorely tempted to slice through the stubborn corn fields. The hobbits had better luck in running and weaving through the thick foliage due to their size, but she was getting an earful of corn, no pun intended.

She heard a crowd of yells that soon were mixed with the sound of loosened dirt, snapping roots, and tumbling pebbles.

_For the love of-.._

Elysia broke through the vegetation only to find that the hobbits were tumbling down a very steep hill. Forget the trouble she went through with one hobbit on the Erebor journey, she had the inkling that these four hobbits will put her through something far more troublesome.

With a quick glance to gage the steepness and drop, Elysia made her quick decent with much more grace than those hobbits.

The hobbits groaned and moaned as they began to disentangle themselves from the heap. Frodo didn't doubt that he would have some bruises on his back from where Pippin's heel pressed in. He stood up, dusting himself off as the others discovered mushrooms and began to hastily collect the delectable fungi. He wanted to shake his head. There were more important matters at hand than some mushrooms. He had an imperative task to complete.

Frodo scanned the area, mainly the matted dirt beneath his feet. A frown made its way to his features as he began to realize something.

They were on a road…. Didn't Gandalf say to stay off the road?

"I… think we should get off the road." He stated.

The hobbits gathering the mushrooms were too focused on their find. The wind seemed to hiss, and with the chilly breeze, Frodo felt an immense amount of discomfort. The road seemed to press in on them as though it were trying to snare them in place.

Suddenly, a dark figure landed from above in a feline crouch. There was little evidence of her slipping on the steep hill, if she slipped at all.

Elysia snapped up and bore a heart stammering glare of aggravated urgency.

"Get off the bloody road!" She snarled so ferociously that Pippin, Sam, and Merry bolted upright and hastily obeyed. Elysia moved to Frodo so swiftly, he had little time to protest when she all but carried him off the leaf strewn path.

They had enough fortune to find a big enough hollow under the roots of a roadside tree that would fit all five of them. It was a tight squeeze. Frodo was placed in the deepest corner of the hollow, partially shielded from the mouth by a tense Elysia. Pippin, Merry, and Sam fidgeted and squirmed in discomfort until Elysia glared at them with her icy daggers. They could have sworn she hissed.

It wasn't long before they understood her sudden severity.

Heavy hooves clopped to a halt on the road. From the gaps of the roots they could see crusted gore caking black hooves. The dark steed snorted and Elysia wrinkled her nose. It reeked of old blood.

There was a rustle.

A metal plated boot landed on the ground. The rider was off their black steed.

An armored hand curled over the rooted edge of the mouth. The rider was crouching.

There was a dark, blood curdling, spine chilling sensation that crept through them as they heard the sniffs in the deafening silence. The Halflings trembled while Elysia remained frigidly poised. Her hand silently and slowly made its way to Silvindr's handle, prepared to behead the black rider should they be discovered.

So her suspicions were correct… Sauron has sent his forsaken riders to track them down. She dreaded this. The riders had not been this active, had not traversed this far from their fortress for ages. Sauron was becoming bolder with passing time.

A dark whisper slithered to her ears. Elysia whipped her head and spotted the gleaming gold band exposed in Frodo's hand. She grabbed his wrist in a vice like grip, breaking him from his trance. But to have her hand so near the Ring nearly made her jolt. She flinched and released Frodo as though he stung her.

There was a hitch in the hissing breath of the black rider.

Desperate, Sam swung the bag of mushrooms far off the left. The rider immediately flew towards the racket with a shriek. Snatching the chance created by the diversion, they all ran from the hiding spot and headed deep into the forest. Elysia kept a hand on Silvindr's handle as she made sure Frodo and the others stayed in her line of sight.

They didn't stop running for several minutes until Merry stumbled downhill and fell onto the leafy ground. Equally out of breath, the others stopped while Elysia remained watchful of the trees behind them.

"What was that?" Merry panted.

Frodo breathed hard and slowly looked down at his palm, realizing then that the Ring had been out of his pocket and in his hands this entire time. He couldn't quite remember when he pulled it out, and that unnerved him. Simple and plain as it seemed, there was nothing simple about this gold ring.

"There is no time. We cannot linger here!" Elysia forced Merry to stand. "Stay low and keep your eyes sharp. Do as I say and follow my movement." Her fierce command left no room for argument.

She then turned to the plump hobbit. "Sam, bring me your water."

The gardener hastily obeyed, pulling out his waterskin and unscrewed the cap of the leather sac. Elysia quickly tipped water onto her cupped hand. She ignored their inquisitive stares and gently put forth her moist fingers to her lips, cupping her mouth as if she were gently blowing an invisible horn.

Pippin and Merry gasped in surprise, Sam's jaw hung open, and Frodo only widened his eyes. Mist poured from her fingers and began to rise from the ground and the area around them. Soon the land around them was shrouded in mist.

"Stay cautious. This trick won't conceal you entirely, and it won't last forever."

The riders would sense something suspicious with the enchanted mist, but Elysia was running out of options.

They were travelling through the night. Elysia paid little heed to the fact that her company of two had now become a company of four. She moved like their shadow, swift and silent, while her ears, nose, and eyes remained alert for the slightest hint of those foul riders.

"What is going on?" Pippin finally asked, tired and confused.

Neither Frodo, Sam, nor Elysia gave him an answer. Merry, being the smarter one of their duo, stepped forward, near Frodo.

"That black rider was looking for something… or someone… Frodo?" Merry deduced quickly. But he was interrupted by Elysia

"Get down!" She hissed and forced them flat on the ground as she crouched low over them.

In the moonlit night, they could make the outlines of the dark rider and his foul steed. The black horse's breath fogged the air like a poisonous miasma. Under the chilling wind, the forest fell deathly silent as the rider scanned the surroundings before urging its horse elsewhere and out of sight over the hill.

Frodo released a breath he hadn't noticed he was holding.

"…. We must leave the Shire…" He whispered to Merry, still staring at the moonlit dark. Pippin and Merry stilled at this. A hobbit leaving the Shire?

Frodo then turned and Merry saw the adamancy in his eyes. The Baggins was not jesting. He was really going to leave.

"The three of us must get to Bree." Elysia hissed. "Merry, you know these grounds better than I. Is there a faster way to cross the river?"

Elysia knew of a crossing, but it was over twenty miles away. They couldn't risk such distance with mounted pursuers in their path.

Merry hesitated then put on a brave face.

"Buckleberry Ferry. Follow me."

They ran through the night, now with Merry in the lead. But their fortune finally wavered. The riders had gathered into the enchanted mist and began to scour the lands with vicious scrutiny. It was inevitable they would be spotted at their breakneck pace.

An earsplitting shriek echoed the forest as a black rider burst from the woods and into their tiny clearing, intercepting them and dividing their group. Like startled lambs, they scattered and stumbled in panic as the cloaked figure towered over them.

Then Frodo saw a sudden gleam of radiant silver glint under the moon.

A familiar curved blade swung through the air like a swift gust of wind, nothing but a blur that sped past the rider. He barely even heard the sound of flesh being cut, but the rider's horse released a pained cry and its hind legs crumpled to the ground. As the rider fell in a shadowy heap, Frodo heard Elysia's voice loud and clear.

"RUN!"

The said dragon suddenly appeared by Frodo's side and grabbed Frodo by the arm, forcing him forward while Silvindr gleamed in her other hand, unsheathed and smeared with dark crimson blood.

They were behind the others who already took off at Elysia's word. Frodo clung onto Elysia's calloused hand for dear life as she wove through the trees with such speed that she nearly carried Frodo's entire weight. They managed to run out of the forest where Elysia spotted the others preparing the ferry.

"Frodo! Elly!" Sam called.

"Get going!" Elysia commanded. Merry and Pippin quickly obeyed, shoving the ferry from the dock. Sam panicked. Elysia and Frodo weren't going to make it in time! They needed to wait!

As they neared the wooden fence, Elysia sheathed Silvindr and swept Frodo off his feet with a single arm. Holding him to her firmly, she sped faster than before and leapt over the fence in a single bound.

Sam, Pippin, and Merry began to frantically cry out to them as a black rider erupted from the forest, not far behind them, screaming at the two to make haste.

Elysia gave an extra burst of speed at hearing those clopping, nailed hooves gallop behind them. She could smell the foul breath of the horse… feel it against her neck. It smelled of rotting corpses and metal.

With a great leap, Elysia covered the fifteen foot gap. Her skidding feet against the ferry's wobbly wooden floorboards mirrored the hooves of the rider's steed as it skidded on the dock. An enraged shriek echoed the night as the rider yanked the reigns of its horse, turning it back from the water's edge and back to solid earth.

They could practically feel the malicious dismay targeting them at their narrow escape. More riders began to emerge from the shadows at the call of one of their own.

Frodo was still clinging onto Elysia, heart racing and lungs burning. "How far to the nearest crossing?" He shivered at the thought of being ambushed by the riders again just after their narrow escape.

"Brandywine Bridge… Twenty miles." Merry's information brought little ease to the hobbits. Frodo buried his head in Elysia's shoulder. The sound of the dragon's strong hammering heartbeat dwarfed his own palpating heart.

Elysia merely held him close for a moment before gently letting him down. Frodo still did not stray near her form, clinging to her hip like a frightened child to its mother. She caressed his curls silently, refusing to murmur soothing words of false comfort to the little one. Their escape had been too narrow for her comfort. She would have to keep them vigilant until they reached Bree.

Sam edged closer to the female, feeling more secure by being near her fierce presence. Pippin felt a twinge of envy at Frodo basking so closely in Elysia's protective aura as she nurtured him and kept him close. Being the youngest, he felt particularly more vulnerable and desired nothing more than to hide himself in her arms at that very moment. Even Merry was closer than he was, his shoulder touching her free side as he maneuvered the ferry.

Unable to stand the lingering fear of the terrifying experience, Pippin edged a little closer to Elysia and leaned a little more towards Merry. After a few uncertain heartbeats, Pippin suddenly found himself with the side of his face pressed against the side of Elysia's stomach. She had bluntly but gently grabbed his collar and pulled him to her, having smelled his fear.

Feeling the warmth of her hand against his neck, Pippin released a sigh and closed his eyes.

"Don't feel so at ease yet…" She whispered softly "…And pull up your hoods. It's going to rain very soon."

_***Ebrithil= Master**_


	4. Chapter 4

**May or may not be the last time I posted two chapters in one day. But I couldn't resist. I'll try to find a comfortable schedule in which to post chapters at a more consistent pace... But to be honest, at times I can be fickle with those things.**

**I'm still quite new to writing on FF, so sometimes, you'll notice changes here and there where I fix formats. They're quite minimal, and it's simply to make the writing flow. **

**Enjoy! And as always, I do not own LOTR. **

**-Mana**

* * *

><p>Chapter 4- A Ragged Encounter and a Songless Sky<p>

They followed Elysia in the rain. They were getting drenched, huddling in their soaked cloaks as their packs began to way down upon them with the added weight of the rain water. But as miserable as the weather felt, it gave them an advantage as they moved through the noisy pitter patter, the sounds of their movement muffled and all traces of their travel swept away by the water.

The hobbits, although weary, paid close attention to their female warden. Within the Shire, she was the "Walkins" they all new and many respected. She had always carried herself with a certain stern grace, always looking a little aloof at some points, but never hesitated in helping out a hobbit with a heavy load or in entertaining the children that rushed to her with eager requests for magic.

But out of the Shire… Seeing her now as she crept through the wet woods and guided them to the gates of Bree, she was different. She moved with a predatory elegance; a feline or she-wolf stalking its prey. When she had Silvindr in her hand, moving with little hesitation to strike the rider, Frodo Baggins was sorely reminded Elysia was much more than Elly Walkins.

He was in the presence of a being far older than him, Bilbo, or any of them here and perhaps even in Hobbiton combined who had seen many things and been many places.

He was in the presence of a dragon.

The gloomy wooden gates of Bree were in sight, and as gloomy as they were the hobbits never felt so relieved to see them. Elysia rapped hard at the door in three quick knocks, and from the wooden flap she met eyes with a grouchy old gatekeeper.

He looked at her hooded face and the snarl on his mouth grew.

"What do you want?" He asked suspiciously.

"We're headed to the Prancing Pony."

The gatekeeper narrowed his eyes further at the "we're" and quickly closed the flap before opening the door.

"You and what kind of company-…" He stretched out his hand with a lamp its grasp, trying to grasp a better look at the visitors. "Hobbits?... You and four hobbits? What brings so many of ye' out from the Shire and into Bree?"

"We wish to stay at the inn. Our business is our own." Frodo spoke out.

If Elysia's piercing gaze didn't make him relent his pressing, Frodo's words did. The gatekeeper avoided those dagger-like eyes and looked down at the hobbits, hesitating before giving a small smile.

"Alright young sirs, I meant no offense." He began to move out of the way, much to the Halflings' relief. "It's my job to ask questions, after all." He babbled on. "There's talk of strange folk abroad… can't be too careful."

Elysia turned to the gatekeeper. "Has Gandalf the Grey recently come into Bree? The old man with a pointy gray hat and a long beard." She spoke out of earshot of her companions.

The gatekeeper frowned thoughtfully. His words brought dread to Elysia. "I'm afraid I haven't." He replied. Was it just his age getting to him or was this young "sir" a ma'am? He could not tell under the hood.

Elysia departed after her companions with this news, leaving the gatekeeper to squint at her back, trying to decipher her gender. She was dressed like a male, albeit a little on the thin side, and there weren't any feminine bumps he could see, yet she sounded a little feminine. But then again, no maiden would carry such swords as that "young sir" did.

Indeed… There are some strange folk going about, coming into Bree.

Elysia pulled up the scarf around her neck and concealed the bottom half of her face. She could sense the hobbits' anxiety as they treaded the intimidating crowd in Bree. Folks stared at them but only briefly as they sighted the taller hooded and sword wielding figure that accompanied them, for hooded folks with swords were dangerous. The stranger could be some kind of ranger, and rangers were best left alone.

When they reached the doors to the Prancing Pony, Elysia turned to Frodo.

"I'll be back in a few minutes or so, little one. I'm going to have a look around. Remember what Gandalf said about your name."

Frodo nodded, and Elysia looked to the others, specifically to Pippin and Merry.

"And keep _out_ of trouble."

She then pivoted on her heel and walked away, weaving into the crowd, deeper into Bree while Frodo and his friends entered the Prancing Pony.

Elysia headed for the general store, deep in thought as she aimed to stock them on a few provisions for a long journey. Gandalf said he would meet them in Bree, but he hasn't.

Gandalf always kept his word, especially in a time like this… At least he always tried, unless…

Something must have deterred him. Troubled, she grabbed three leather waterskins on the shelf. She trusted Sam to have packed a lot of food, but with four hobbits she would most likely have to hunt.

This situation smelled fouler now. There were those forsaken Nazgúl on their tail and Gandalf has been delayed. She began to wonder what delayed the wizard. This situation had parallels with the incident in Erebor when he went to investigate the darkness conjuring in Dol-Guldur… That peril left him significantly delayed, but this time he was not supposed to visit hostile lands. He was visiting-

_Saruman…_

"_Something foul festers in Isengard…."_

Elysia gnashed her teeth in frustration as she purchased her things, slamming them down with more force than necessary onto the wooden counter, startling the merchant. He hastily packed her purchases while she continued to analyze the situation.

If Gandalf was deterred by that white wizard then where was she supposed to take the hobbits? They could not return to the Shire, not with the Ring in Frodo's possession and the wraiths pursuing them, but they cannot go on the run forever. She could make for Rivendell.

The thought of entering the elvish citadel without Gandalf to mediate with Lord Elrond made her stomach roll with anxiety. However, times were dire. Elysia was forced to push pass her own sentiments with the elves for the sake of her hobbits.

Her reverie was broken by a dark shiver crawling down her spine. A foul whisper ran through the air, and Elysia could only think of one thing to cause such sensation.

_Frodo_

The merchant flinched as the mysterious customer snatched her purchases from the counter and ran out of the shop in a blur.

It only took her a few heartbeats to arrive at the Prancing Pony, and when she did her eyes scoured the inn, ignoring the bartender's curious gaze. Anxiety lanced through her heart. Her little one was nowhere in sight. To ease her fear, she spotted the others looking terrified.

With a few long and fast strides she loomed over them like a lion over the lambs.

"Where is he?" She growled.

Pippin and Merry flinched, becoming mute, but Sam was frantically speaking in a rush.

"The ranger took Mr. Frodo! Frodo, he j-just slipped and the ring flew out of his pocket a-and landed on h-his finger. He turned invisible then a-appeared then the ranger just took him-"

"Took him where?!" Elysia snarled.

"U-up the stairs!" Sam stuttered. Within the blink of an eye, Elysia left and headed for the stairs with silent fury. After a long pause, Sam swallowed hard and turned to the others.

"Come on! We've got to help Mr. Frodo and Miss. Elly!"

Merriadoc Brandybuck grimaced but didn't argue. Help Frodo and Elly? He thought they should help the ranger. Elly looked ready to rip the man apart!

...

Frodo was backed into a corner while the Ranger paced around, extinguishing his candles. The stranger new he had the Ring. He despaired because it was obvious he couldn't squirm away from this one. There was something about this man that screamed strength and authority despite his rugged appearance.

Any attempts at escaping would be futile, so he asked.

"Who are you?"

He began to hope, for Elly should be back at the Prancing Pony any minute now. He just had to stall.

The ranger tilted his head and narrowed his keen eyes.

"Are you frightened?" He asked almost mockingly.

Frodo swallowed hard and glared at him, refusing to have his courage stripped by the gaze of this wolf-like man.

"Yes." He said, more defiant than cowed.

"Not nearly frightened enough-"

Then several things seemed to happen all at once. Frodo could barely blink before he fell back at the splintering crash as the door burst open. It practically shattered under the force of the dragon's barging.

There was a blur of metal and bodies and moments later, the ranger was pinned against the wardrobe with a curved dagger against his throat.

Aragorn had lived long and experienced many things. He was an accomplished tracker, swordsman, and survivalist. He was prepared for almost anything he might encounter in the wilderness.

But that confidence was challenged in a mere second. Swift and steady, he had unsheathed his sword and whirled to fend off the intruder, be it a wraith, orc, or a foolish mugger. But just as he brandished his sword, the intruder moved in such speed that rivaled the elves, pouncing on him like a wild cat.

His ears caught the sound of a dagger being unsheathed. His right arm, wielding his sword, was caught in a vice like grip as he was shoved against the wardrobe, but Aragorn was not totally subdued. In counter, he managed to grab the leather braced wrist of the intruder's dagger holding hand as the back of his head slammed against the wardrobe.

To his surprise, the intruder was smaller than him in both width and height but wasn't a Halfling. The top of the hooded head was up to his collar, and the wrist in his hand felt slender. He couldn't make out all of the face under the coverage of the thin black scarf and the hood, but from the size of the body, the long charcoal lashes shadowing those storm hued eyes, and the graceful arch of the nose this, intruder wasn't a man.

However, what surprised him the most was not the speed nor size, but the brute strength of this _woman_. As they stood in a standstill, Aragorn had tried to relieve the pressure on his sword hand and push away the dagger a mere hair's width away from his throat. But her strength clearly trounced his own, as she barely budged. Seeing folly in resisting, he tried to negotiate and calm her.

"Be at ease… I mean you no harm." His voice was gentle and honest.

"Who are you, ranger?" The sound of her voice was indeed female, hostile, but female nonetheless. Her blade and position were not swayed by the assuring words.

The rugged man smelled of pipe weed and sweat amongst many other things more unpleasant to her nose,-really the race of men smelled so terrible sometimes. If she were blind and deaf, she would have mistaken many of the men in Bree for pigs-but there was something else that Elysia couldn't put her claw or forked tongue on about him. He wasn't a mere man despite his raggedy clothes and shabby appearance. Something in his heart's blood permeated magic.

Frodo, speechless and even more frightened at the sight, finally found his voice. As daunting as this ranger was, the murderous aura emanating from his beloved friend was petrifying. It didn't sit well with him to imagine his dear Elly killing a stranger.

"Elly, no!" he cried running to them, mustering the courage to restrain his friend.

At the sound of his voice and his hands gripping her clothes, Elysia moved back swiftly and stood with Frodo securely behind her and the ranger a good five feet away.

The ranger kept a watchful eye on her fang-like dagger in her white knuckled grip.

Elysia's eyes narrowed at the man before swiftly turning to her friend—still she kept the man in her peripheral—scanning for any injuries.

"I'm alright, Elly." Frodo assured as he held onto her robe.

Elysia merely kept him close like a lioness with her cub and glared once more the ranger. The ranger seemed to understand her meaningful glare and slowly sheathed his sword before raising his hands as a sign of surrender. Seeing the muscles in her shoulders ease at his vulnerability, he spoke.

"I know what hunts you." He never wavered from her eyes.

The tension could be cut with a knife as Elysia silently assessed the man. Slowly, she sheathed her own dagger and pulled down her scarf.

"I've met you before… Or at least heard of you." She said with a little hesitation, unsure of her own words. Was this the famed Strider, the Ranger of the North? He was among the most well known of the wandering men.

Staring at those ancient eyes in that petite stoic face, Aragorn smirked.

"We have never met, for I would have remembered a face like yours. But I've heard of you… The rumors are true, you are Mithrandir's apprentice, are you not?"

Elysia's next words were overwhelmed by a loud clumsy crash. Immediately, the two warriors had their hands on their swords as they whirled around to face the door.

Sam came stumbling through the ruined door barely held together by its hinges. He had his fists up and ready with a brave face while Merry and Pippin brandished a piece of furniture hardly suited for a fight.

"Let them go! Or I'll have you, Longshanks!" Samwise Gamgee snarled.

The sight eased the remaining tension in an instant. Elysia fought the urge to look up and sigh in exasperation, but like the ranger she admired their stout hearts. There were more urgent matters at hand than to waste time in becoming well acquainted with one another.

The ranger turned to Elysia and Frodo.

"You can no longer wait for the wizard. They are coming."

~O~O~O~O~O~

The people of Bree who remained awake were terrified. Something dark has come into the town, breaking down their gate and trampling their gatekeeper. The innkeeper closed his eyes and prayed to whatever deity there was as the black riders swooped into his inn like the dealers of death and shadow.

Elysia listened to the steady fall and rise of the sleeping hobbits. Some of them were even snoring, obviously exhausted by the thrilling course of events. However, one remained by her spot on the edge of the bed, sitting near her form. Frodo couldn't sleep and instead leaned against the dragon for comfort.

Elysia said nothing but draped her arm around him.

Her keen ears heard the sound of the riders coming through Bree and into the Prancing Pony. Luckily, Strider had set up a false room and they settled in a different area.

Speaking of the ranger, he hadn't said much, perched near the window like a watchful guard dog. He occasionally glanced at Elysia and Frodo with unspoken questions in his gaze. Elysia had finally allowed her hood to drape down on her back. A few loose strands of her raven hair framed her face in its dark waves, but there was little she could do to hide the slight point of her ridged ears.

Strider's sharp eyes had not missed this odd trait, but it was one of many oddities that shrouded the enigmatic woman. He said nothing and inquired nothing. The woman's stony expression discouraged any pressing inquisitions and his curiosity was not worth her antagonism.

A familiar blood curdling shriek startled them all. Elysia and Strider remained still but the sleeping hobbits all sat up. Frodo flinched and turned his head to the window, comforted a little by Elysia's arm.

Those inhuman piercing shrieks echoed through the night. They listened in silence until the hobbit could wait no longer to ask.

"What are they?"

Strider glanced at Frodo. His sea colored orbs darkening at the foul topic.

"They were once men… Great Kings of men… Then Sauron the Deceiver gave to them nine rings of power… Blinded by their greed, they took them without questions. One by one they began to fall into the darkness. Now they are slaves to his will."

"They are the Nazgúl…" Elysia's voice was dark. "Ringwraiths… Neither living nor dead." She turned her piercing gaze to Frodo.

"At all times, they feel the presence of the Ring… They will never stop hunting you."

Then her eyes moved to Strider meaningfully, asking questions that were unsaid. The ranger met her gaze with honest eyes.

"I will take you to my home. It is the safest place to be."

As loathsome as the idea of leaving Gandalf behind was, Elysia saw no other option. She was sorely tempted to fly to Isengard and interrogate the white wizard, but she promised Gandalf to see the hobbits have a safer passage. So wherever Gandalf was, she could only hope and pray for his safety.

They moved out at the first light of dawn. Strider guided them through the wild, and Elysia was content in allowing him to lead. She seemed to be guarding their backs while the ranger took the front, but in truth, she wanted to assess the ranger. Her experience with the race of men left her wary with his kind, and there was a riddle surrounding this particular man.

It was in a dragon's nature to seek answers to a good riddle.

All rangers were at ease in the wilderness, but his interactions with the environment around him, from the way his hands caressed the leaves of passing brush to the way he trekked the earth with near soundless steps, was harmonious, not unlike the elves. In fact, many of his movements were comparable to those pointy eared immortals.

_It's a pity he doesn't have their smell. _Elysia thought sourly, although his scent was not all bad.

Perhaps if he bathed off the ick from his natural musk, he might smell as attractive as he appeared-by the human standards. She wasn't too sure. She was no human maiden. Beards and unkempt scruff on the chin never appealed to her.

She was still missing an important piece of this ranger's puzzle, and thus she could not form the final answer to the mystery for the magic permeating off of him. That was until she spotted his hand.

His hand was resting against a tree, and what she saw on those dirty calloused hands was a glittering emerald shining on his finger. The emerald was embedded in a ring, designed as two silver serpents wrapping around the finger.

Elysia was no scholar, but she knew enough of Arda's history to know the significance of the finger jewel.

It was the Ring of Barahir, an ancient heirloom that existed long before her birth. It survived many wars and epic quests and was passed down throughout the ages through an archaic royal bloodline…

So what was a priceless artifact doing in the hands of a ranger?

… _This is not some ranger._

It dawned on her then. The way the man moved, talked, and that ring of his… Even his scent was something different. She had encountered rangers before, caught their scent occasionally as she wandered through and defended the Shire. Those long lived Dunedain always felt a bit off from the average mortal man. Their lifespans were blessed with greater longevity, but that magic had long been diluted through each generation.

Yet his blood was different. The magic in his veins had yet to become as diluted as the others.

Throughout her long years in Middle Earth, men have proved to be unpleasant creatures. Many times too proud or stubborn, greedy even, not unlike her kin, they were a short lived paradox of a race. Susceptible to the harsher ways of the natural world, mortal, and of lesser strength than many other races, yet they were also fiercely resilient. They endured the world, recovered from their mistakes, and continued to not merely survive but thrive.

She wasn't very fond of them but neither did she resent them. There was a time when her sentiments towards humanity were embittered and downright disdainful, but opinions changed. More importantly people changed.

The Men of the West were a different category of humans. They hailed from a long line of nobles, but this man in particular… With that ring on his finger and the flare in his blood, without a doubt, this shabby ranger came as one of the few descendent from the line of Elendil, if not the only remaining descendent.

Rather anticlimactic, really. She expected one of royal blood to be a bit more… presentable, regal even. This man's tunic appeared as though it had been mended a countless number of times, by none other than his calloused hands. His boots were patched and his breeches were stained with dirt. His unkempt appearance seemed almost insulting for someone of his noble lineage, if her suspicions were proved true.

But be it royal blood or the blood of some commoner, the dragon cared little for it. The monarchies of Middle Earth meant very little to dragons. Be it King of Men, King Under the Mountain, or king of some elvish realm, if it was not complimented by an impressive achievement; one that was earned not given just by birth, there was little lasting glory and respect given by the draconic folk.

What mattered more to her were this man's intentions. Men could be terribly fickle creatures, and she had little desire to take the risk of trusting fickle things.

Merry seemed to share her wariness of the stranger. "How do we know this Strider is a friend of Gandalf?" He whispered to Frodo.

Frodo hesitated. "I think a servant of the enemy would feel fouler."

Merry grimaced and adjusted his pack. "He's foul enough." He grumbled.

"He can hear you, Brandybuck." Elysia commented, not sparing a second glance at Merry. Her blank eyes bore holes into the ranger's back.

"We have no choice but to trust him." Frodo sighed. Although have Elysia by his side certainly alleviated the uncertainty within him, he felt grim with caution.

"Don't fret, Frodo." Elysia smelled his fear. "He will be of no threat to you."

Frodo blinked, looking at her. "Do you trust him, Elly?"

"No."

Merry was confused. "Then how can you be so certain?"

"Because if he tries, I will kill him."

Her response was so calm, so starkly said. Without mirth or anger, she spoke as though she were predicting the forecast. The monotonous sincerity cut deeper than any angered promise.

The hobbits stared at Elysia, eyes widening. Even the ranger seemed to stiffen in his movement.

It was in her intentions to say it blatantly so he would hear; a plain and promising threat that he would have to be a moron to ignore. He remembered those eyes when she held the blade at his throat. They were the eyes of someone who could and would cut him down with cold apathy at his death staining her hands.

Merry and Pippin swallowed hard. Sam simply looked a little pale. Frodo frowned deeply, finding it hard to accept what she said. It displeased him immensely to hear his dearest friend speak such merciless promise.

He had always known Elysia as the mothering soul; the one wore a look of regret at causing a small tween Pippin to cry (again) after giving him and Merry discipline. This side of her, this merciless blood-letting bite she bore, it reminded him that she was a dragon underneath the hood.

Sam seemed to break out of his stupor from Elysia's statement to ask a sensible question. "Where's he taking us?"

"To Rivendell, Master Gamgee." Aragorn finally spoke. "To the House of Elrond."

Upon hearing their destination, excitement quickly distilled the tension in the air. Sam was thoroughly thrilled while Merry and Pippin exchanged looks of wonderment.

"Did you hear that?" Sam smiled at Frodo. "We're going to Rivendell. We're going to see the elves!"

While the hobbits seemed to be full of anticipation, Elysia did not share their sentiments at all.

She sighed. Rivendell was beautiful, it was serene, and certainly hospitable, but her dilemma lied with the elves. Elves in general were curious beings. Time has not diminished their childlike intrigue. They merely learned to conceal it better with time.

Elves loved a good, challenging riddle, and Elysia was, to them, one of the greatest puzzles ever to be encountered.

It was by some miracle that they never recognized what she truly was. Since her first days entering Imaldris as a youngling, clutching Gandalf's clothes in apprehension, she was the primary target for attention. Initially, it was because she was young and on first glance she would pass off as an elvish child or a Peredhil: a half elvish being. Children were terribly rare amongst the fair folk and thus loved dearly, but Elysia, having never been accustomed to having so many curious eyes on her, nonetheless vying for her attention, recoiled fiercely from them. She was terribly shy and snuck about the place like a ghost. That unprecedented behavior startled them and informed them of her aberrant nature. The fact that she was Gandalf's "whimsical" apprentice, and most likely the only recorded apprentice of an Istari, didn't help to lessen the inquisition.

They hadn't been completely abrasive about solving the puzzle surrounding her, no. Elves had more grace and tact than that. Regardless, to Elysia, the unwanted attention had become so unbearable that she would only visit Imaldris if Gandalf required (with good reason) her presence there. He always exaggerated that he was forced to fight "tooth, nail, and fire" to convince her.

Never by her own volition would she go to the House of Elrond, and in the rare times she did, she took painful precautions to make herself scarce.

Living in secrecy was also a subtle thorn at her side. Having had at least two people in the Shire who knew of her true nature, she had taken for granted the relief one could feel on being free to express who they truly were.

Staying in Rivendell always gave her the strange sense of being a caged. Dragons were never meant for cages.

Elysia remained a silent, brooding guard as they traversed the great landscape of Middle Earth, distracting herself from unpleasant thoughts by listening to the wilderness and to Pippin grumbling about food and fatigue.

They trekked through snowy grounds, through odd sands and brush, and rested in a marshy land. Grimacing, she avoided walking into the goopy waters as much as possible, hopping from the tiny islands scattered across the marsh.

When they made camp, the hobbits quickly grouped together and sat down in loud huffs, exhausted from the long day of travel. Sam began starting a fire while Merry muttered about "insects hungry for a taste of hobbit". Pippin was drinking what little was left in his waterskin. Before Frodo could offer some of his own, Elysia dropped hers to Pippin's lap before she went to Strider. He had hardly set his own belongings down before he began to string his bow and strap his quiver onto his back.

When he caught her regarding him in silence, he explained. "I shall be back with food shortly."

If he wanted to complain of the frequency in which the hobbits seemed to need feeding, he said nothing.

Elysia gave him a long, hard look before casting a glance at the hobbits warming themselves by the fire. Although she would find game faster with her superior senses, the thought of leaving him alone with the hobbits was discomforting.

"Very well." She conceded, turning her head to gaze far away into the twilight, beyond the marsh. It was the first time she ever spoke directly to him in their long journey.

He had noticed her mind run to the conclusion, it was hard not to with the way she glanced back and forth from him to the four smaller ones of their company. Growing weary of her wariness, he sighed.

"Truly… I mean your Halflings no harm."

"Hobbits. They're more accurately termed as hobbits." She corrected, her head didn't move but her eyes flickered back to pin him again. "And I shall determine that for myself."

There was little fruit in arguing with her. He merely returned his attention to his bow.

The two remained in silence for a long moment. Then she spoke.

"There are signs of a young stag roaming these parts. Half a league to the east."

She then sauntered off, leaving him to watch her departing back and the gleaming pommel of one of her swords.

When he returned with the stag, gutted but not skinned, she swiftly took the labor from his hands. Examining the deer carcass, she lifted up the flap from where he made the incision to gut the animal. Pulling out a dark red, slippery slab of meat, she examined the meat briefly before approving of its condition.

"See what you can do with this, Samwise." She handed the strange piece of meat to the hobbit. Sam was startled by the choice of meat but he started to prepare his frying pan.

"The liver, Miss Elly?" It didn't seem like a common choice of meat to eat while camping, but then again, Sam had never gone camping.

"And the heart." She also gave him the organ that remained in the chest cavity. "Cook them separately but eat them both tonight. They will help you for the longer journey tomorrow."

The liver and the heart were the most nutrient rich parts of any game, although Elysia found them best when they were eaten raw.

Upon hearing this, Sam obediently began to prepare the meat for their dinner. Elysia continued her work on the carcass, skinning it and cutting the meat piece by piece. She wasn't as neat as the butchers in the Shire, but her handiwork sufficed in the wilderness.

The meal was prepared on the remaining loaf of bread Sam had packed into his belongings. Elysia declined a serving, simply handing it to Frodo to share amongst the hobbits. The ranger also ate, although he had been surprised to be handed a dish that appeared more suited to eat while at a tavern or in a pleasant home. He hadn't taken much care with how he cooked his food out here, so it was a much welcomed meal.

...

She settled on a lumpy patch of grass she found satisfactorily clean. Legs crossed and close to her chest in a meditative posture, she waited watchfully under the round eye of the pale moon.

After a few moments, Strider came and sat near her.

"You should rest with your friends." He said.

"My body's not in need of rest." She responded bluntly, rejecting his advice and silent offer to keep watch for the night.

Aragorn sat unperturbed, quietly observing the maiden's stillness. She was gazing at the sky, as though to pierce through the clouds in the distance with those eyes, perhaps in hopes to see the stars. There was something melancholic about the gaze, not unlike his own sullen tendency when he was immersed in a sobering thought.

"Something is on your mind."

"Something is always on my mind… It is a mind, that's its purpose." She replied.

"It is troubling you. You look forlorn, milady." He pressed, unfazed by her discouraging tone.

Furrows began to appear on her forehead, irked by his persistence. "I am alive. There is always trouble. That's life. It's the price of living."

Aragorn was more amused than exasperated by her dry, wisecracking words. "You speak in riddles."

He searched for his pipe. Upon finding it, he began to stuff the pipeweed into the bowl of the smoking tool.

"Yes… It rubs off on you when you're with the grumpy old gray pilgrim." She mused.

"Perhaps that is why you are strange." Aragorn lit the pipeweed and began to take soft puffs of smoke.

"I am strange to you because I was born different." Her response was vague.

"Different. That I see… What are you?" Smoke curled from his lips as he asked her, curiosity evident in his tone.

"… complicated."

The single worded answer only brought a small chuckle out of the man. The ranger lowered his pipe.

"Indeed you are." He pressed no further, much to her surprise.

It was unlike his people to not pry more fiercely when spoken to in such manner. She appreciated his intentions of being silent, but she was not without her own questions.

"…I could say the same for you, _Ranger of the North._"

Now he was the still one. He stared at her questioningly.

She finally turned and met his gaze, and those eyes seemed to pierce through him and strip the layers covering his soul. Such unsettling sensation made it difficult to maintain the stare, a rarity for someone like himself.

"You wear the Ring of Barahir, Strider… And the blood of the Dunedain runs thick in your veins, thicker than that of the average ranger." She tilted her head, and Strider had the distinct sensation of a scholar reading an open book.

There was a heavy pause, and Aragorn debated on whether he should divulge her on the truth of his lineage. Her scrutiny promptly ended with a huff and a small twitch of her nose.

"Merry was right, you _are_ rather foul. You rangers' and your sense of cleanliness can be atrociously deficient."

The ranger scowled lightly at this comment, both offended but amused. Of all the things that bothered her or should bother her, it was his cleanliness that irked her the most? He did not respond to the jab, and thus the two were left in an oddly comfortable silence.

~O~O~O~O~O~

The land was bathed in silver. The moon was outshining the stars, making it hard for Elysia to see the constellations but nonetheless she still tried. It was a habit she long stopped trying to relinquish, to spend idle time staring at the stars, recollecting the stories and directions each one told and all of which she knew by heart.

Her people had loved the sky, and above everything else they loved about the sky, from the tempest to the sun, they adored the stars above all else, but to Elysia it held a far greater significance...

"_Wood elves love best light of the stars, but not all share our heart for them… I recall… h-he found them to be cold and lonesome…" The voice grew smaller in grief. "I do not know if I can love them as I once did."_

_Her own anguish began to strangle her, but she mustered the courage to speak._

"…_. The elders of my people used to tell the younglings that those we loved who departed from life… They leave a piece of themselves in the stars… so they can watch us, guide us… remind us of beloved things._

_Perhaps that is why my people resided so closely to the heavens, ventured so near and so oft into the skies; so they would not feel so alone and so chilled by the emptiness of having to live without them.… I know I have."_

Bittersweet memories were ever present with the stars. And every time Elysia gazed upon them, she remembered the journey that changed her all those years ago. She remembered the sound of a voice as hard, cold, and rough as uncarved granite, the smell of autumn leaves and winter pine, and eyes as vividly blue as a cloudless, midmorning sky.

Laughter had been as bountiful as the unspoken words that should've been said back then. There was heartache; muffled but as present as the fondness by which she recollected the memories she imbued within the stars she gazed.

Aragorn watched her as she sat in solitude and silence near the encampment. She wore a vacant expression as she stared at the stars, a look he knew all too well, having worn it himself for countless of sleepless nights.

Quick to kill and of lesser mercy than him she may be, but perhaps they had more in common with one another than the enigma they carried with their silent steps.

It was a quiet night, and Aragorn found himself unusually lacking tolerance to the melancholic silence. He began to sing softly to the silver moon.

Elysia twitched an ear upon hearing the song. It spoke of a romantic tale, of a love between a mortal and immortal.  
>Frodo awoke to his song, unable to refrain from interrupting Aragorn.<p>

"Who is she? The woman you speak of?"

Aragorn stopped singing, and Elysia began to focus her mind to other things, already knowing the outcome of the story sung.

To fall in love with a being of another race usually ended in tragedy. Love in itself was tragic to those who've lived and traveled long and far and suffered losses beyond a mortal's measure.  
>Love always carried with it a burden. As kind and patient as it could be, love was also fierce and strong. It could break the resolve of dragon like sea waves against the rocks or fire to snow; gradual or quick but nevertheless imminent.<p>

To dragons, love was as dangerous as it was beautiful… but that made it all the more precious.

If there was one thing the immortal races of elves and dragons had in common, it was the value placed upon love above all things; above pride, above honor, and above one's own life.

Elysia knew this, because she was no stranger to it. She had come to know many forms of love, had the fortune of being loved and of loving.

And also the misfortune of falling in it, once upon a time.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5 - A Promise Under the Starlight

_The greatest tragedy in any strength residing in the earthly realm is that it is be balanced with a weakness of equal severity. _

_For the elves, it was their heart's bond with those they love. Eternal love that never fades with time, it was truly a gift from the Valar… but take away what they love and it becomes a curse… for they shall fade from a broken heart._

_For the dwarves who prided in their rocks and metals; give them too great a bounty of precious ores and the curse of a dragon's greed will sink them into madness. _

_For men, it was the great persistence in which their mortal spirits sought hope and strength. It advanced them far in time. But give them a false hope fabricated from a promise of power in the times where they desperately seek hope, and they can fall far and hard into darkness. _

_For the dragons, it was their magic's vigor and might that became their greatest bane. _

_Such raw potency woven through their very flesh and blood, they were living vessels in which ancient magic thrived. Naught even dragons could explain all that there was of their own magic. They could only understand, by some instinctual force designed by the higher powers of Arda. The dragons will and steadfast spirit kept their magic controlled. _

_But break their will and their own raw power will consume them and drown them into spite and chaos. _

_ Break their spirit and their honor shall twist into malice, pride into contempt, and from the despair they will become monstrosities of legends._

_ Such was the method in which the Dark Lords, the Forsworn Shadows, the great bane of Middle Earth swayed them into malice._

~O~O~O~O~O~

The hobbits were beginning to tire. Elysia ended up carrying many of their belongings, particularly Sam's large pack. In the night, she had managed to dry much of the meat, providing the hobbits with much needed strength and something to chew on while they kept up with Strider's long pace. They finally were settled at Weathertop at the ruins of an old watch tower where the hobbits, too tired to complain or utter a word, dropped what they had and sat down on the moss covered stone.

The land looked ominous and miserable under the murk of dark clouds. It choked the light in the sky. Though the higher ground seemed safe, the sky unsettled Elysia.

Strider began arming the hobbits with small and rather shabby looking swords most likely bartered in the markets of Bree. Seeing the hobbits armed brought her a very slight comfort. While they held no experience wielding such things, it was better they were armed nonetheless. If the potential threat of black riders didn't need her attention, she would have taken some time to teach them to fend for themselves.

Elysia stood close to the steep edge of the watch tower, eyes scouring the shadowed lands.

Strider walked to her side.

"What is it?"

After a few days of travelling together, the two practiced survivalists began to work in unspoken cooperation. Although Elysia still remained distant, dispassionate in befriending and cozying up to the ranger, with their goal being similar in keeping the hobbits protected and the ring protected, they remained civil. Only out of necessity did Elysia ever engage the rider in a conversation, even then, words were always short and brusque.

"They're close… The wind carries their stench." Her lips thinned and her glare narrowed.

"Can you tell how long?" He asked, more concerned about the wraiths than to question her peculiarly keen senses. He'll figure out the riddle of this woman some other time in the future when the situation wasn't so dangerous.

"No." She sighed. "But it's best if we move in the early morn, before the first light of dawn."

She despised pushing the exhausted hobbits like this, but there was no other way; unless she shifted to her scaled form. It was a tempting idea to just pluck them all up and fly all the way to Rivendell.

It was a ludicrous idea, tempting nonetheless. She might as well light herself on fire and scream like a noisy beacon for all of Sauron's servants to see. Furthermore, the elves would most definitely not react so welcomingly to having a dragon swoop into their sacred halls. Even Strider might most likely brandish his sword at her in fright and attempt to slay her.

She released a tired sigh and pulled down her hood, allowing the wind to caress her face. Closing her eyes, she massaged her temples with a grimace. Their progress was slow, and the situation was thinning. The longer they resided in the wilds, the greater the danger will be.

The signs of fatigue did not go unnoticed the ranger.

"You should rest. Not once have I seen you sleep since the journey." He saw her frown deepen and misunderstood. "Unless you do not require sleep."

"I'm not an elf, ranger." Elysia snapped, baring her teeth at him. "But I shan't sleep with the shadow looming over my back like this." She then walked off to explore the tower, leaving Strider to frown.  
>Her teeth… Were his eyes playing tricks on him, or were her canines rather sharp?<p>

Having noticed their prickly interaction, Frodo spoke to the ranger.

"Please don't take any offense. Elly can be difficult to strangers at times, and she may not seem very nice, but she is a good person." Frodo's earnest remark produced a small smirk from the ranger.

"To be good is of greater significance than being kind, Frodo." Strider remarked, giving him a small smirk. "I hold Elysia at no fault…. A good person is hard to find in this world. Are you certain your friend is _good_?"

Frodo did not waver. "More than enough to have the trust of me and my company. We owe her our lives."

The smirk grew into a soft smile at the hobbit's loyalty. The ranger gave him a curt nod and departed to ponder in thought. He knew more of her than most would assume. Having traveled far and wide himself, he would have to be blind and deaf to not know of the Istari's apprentice and the primary protector of the Shire. She was titled with many names, one as odd as the other, but even for a person as elusive as she, it was near impossible to avoid being in the tales of many who remembered the desolation of Smaug and the battle for Erebor, especially when she was such a direct participant.

As vague as the lady was with her midnight garb and striking swords, he found her to be honest. It was a paradox, but regardless, he trusted her.

While she remained rather cold to him, it was her interaction with the hobbits that revealed much of her better nature. That alone was enough for him to see she was no foe. She treated them with an air of delicacy and great care, despite her shrewd behavior, spotting and tending to minute things for the sake of the hobbits.  
>In particular, she was fiercely fond of Frodo. He had no doubt that she would kill for him with little restraint.<p>

As a foe, she was to be feared, but as a friend…

He turned and spotted Elysia coming to Frodo with a handful of wild carrots and potatoes. She tossed them to Sam, who immediately looked overjoyed and sat herself down next to her small companion. Frodo then leaned against her arm with a tired sigh and closed his eyes. Elysia simply draped an arm around him and murmured words to him; face still blank as a slate. Something she said seemed to amuse Frodo, as he smiled and let out a small chuckle. Elysia did not smile with him but there was mirth twinkling in those argent orbs.

~O~O~O~O~O~

The wind howled against her ears at the peak of Weathertop. The ruins were gloomy and the eroding statues of great men looked particularly eerie.

Elysia sat against a pillar, dangerously close to the edge. Her eyes gleamed silver as they scanned the misty land for any sign of danger. With the wind berating her ears, she couldn't hear the hobbits in the midlevel of the tower, but she assumed they were asleep. The ranger was scouting the lands on foot for any danger and perhaps for another deer or rabbit.

She had eaten little close to nothing on this journey, preferring to give her portions to the others. They weren't used to travelling such long distances, so their generous appetite had increased considerably. It was understandable. She only ate a few bites at a time to please Frodo, who worried excessively for her. Even Strider took the liberty of making sure she ate something.

While she was mildly touched by the ranger's concern, Frodo's amused her.  
>Silly little one, he knew what she was. There was no need to worry for any lack in her energy.<p>

She continued to think on. Once they arrive and settle in Rivendell, the first thing she would do is bathe, then she would to her stomach's content. While her scales might not be dirty, this two legged form was starting to feel unpleasant. Being grounded for too long never settled well with her, and the atmosphere up here was melancholy and dark, making her even more sullen. The wind seemed to taunt her, teasing her of the flight that she couldn't have. But by the second, the air was also feeling fouler. It was as though-

A shout snapped her out of the reverie.

"Put it out you fools! Put it out!" Frodo yelled.

"You got ashes on my tomatoes!" Pippin cried indignantly.

Then, with an ear splitting shriek that struck fear into hearts of grown men, they came. Elysia released a hiss and leapt to her feet. Within a few bounds, she ran across the top of the tower and gazed at the bottom of the other side. To her dreadful suspicions, she spotted black figures cutting through the misty floor. Five of the nine wraiths were coming to them, gliding towards the tower like restless spirits.

The sound of bustling feet came behind her. Elysia whirled around, unsheathing Silvindr from her hip. The falchion gleamed dangerously, daring its foes to challenge its swift edge only to meet the terrified gaze of four hobbits.

They had run up the tower, swords unsheathed, fear flooding their eyes. Elysia lowered her blade, her shock muting any gesture of apology.

"The fire. Miss Elly, we're so sorry-" Sam apologized in a frantic rush. Elysia cut him off. Now was not the time to stumble a foolish apology.

"Get behind me!" She commanded.

The wraiths made no move to be stealthy. Their armored feet stomped the ground as they climbed up Weathertop.

The hobbits immediately obeyed, frantically looking left to right while Elysia stared at a particular area. She knew where they would come. They were practically announcing their arrival, announcing the promise of pain and death as their noisy armor shifted under the ragged black cloak.

They came like a looming shadow with every step. Their stench was nauseating.

Elysia's grip on Silvindr's handle tightened. As the wraiths began to draw their blades, the blade of Silver Wind began to gleam brighter, battling the corroded dull blades of the Nazgúl with its luster like a bristling wolf against the wild dogs.

They were not outnumbered, but sorely outmatched like this. Elysia was strong, but a wise dragon admitted a challenge when they saw one. The hobbits were nothing but pigs to the slaughter against these ancient evils, and in this form she was definitely uncertain if she could battle _five_ of them simultaneously. Five orcs? Definitely. Ten golbins? Yes. But five Ringwraiths with four frightened, inexperienced hobbits under her guard?

_Where is that blasted ranger?_ Elysia growled internally.

Now was not the time to seek the ranger. She had little to rely on but her own skill... and sheer luck.

The servants of the Forsworn raised their blades, ready to skewer them as they advanced smoothly.

They seemed to designate Elysia as a formidable threat. Three split from the five and lunged towards her as though they pack of crows towards carrion. But a dragon never consents to be carrion.

Silvindr's edge collided against rusty blade, parrying the blow as Elysia swayed to dodge another from slicing her arm. The brute strength of the wraiths was formidable and their blades were swift. Silvindr deflected blow for blow of the three's onslaughts, and Elysia ducked, narrowly avoiding a beheading swipe. She swung under their feet and diagonally up.

It was an alien feeling to not feel the resistance of solid flesh as she cut a wraith's torso with a slash. The wraith shrieked, more in rage than in pain. Elysia sent a kick hard enough to crack a rib at another wraith closing in on her open side. It flew back with a loud clank of armor onto the ruined pillar while she began to duel the remaining uninjured Nazgúl.

Its comrade quickly recovered from her cut and with a hiss, drew another blade hidden deep within its cloak. The blade was shorter, and its cross guard was oddly shaped. Elysia nearly retched at the rotted smell of foul magic. She was familiar with the cursed edge. It was a blade of Morgul.

A shiver shot her spine, nearly bringing a falter to her movement. Caught off guard by the whispers that slithered near her ears, she staggered back at a particularly hammering blow against her falchion.

_Frodo!_

She heard those invasive whispers one when the Ring was exposed to the air, out of Frodo's pocket, in his hand. Something was wrong. Its poison was strong with the presence of its riders.

The momentary distraction was all that the wraith needed. It immediately tackled the opportunity and with a fearsome shriek, threw the deadly weapon.

She would've dodged the weapon. It would've been the safest course to take in the short time the blade was being propelled to her. But that left the chance the projectile would strike one of the hobbits, something she couldn't risk.  
>Her thoughts went as quick as lightning, and in the split second, her body made the choice before her mind.<p>

Silvindr in hand, she parried the blade as fast as she could, just before it struck.

...There was a shattered sound of breaking metal, soon followed by a scream of agony.

She felt a sharp pain spread across her torso and arms as fragments of the sinister blade embedded itself is multiple areas on the front of her body. The piercing sting was quickly followed by an excruciating sensation akin to acid corroding the flesh of her open wounds, travelling through her veins with the flow of her heart. A scream tore itself out of her throat and her grip on Silvindr slipped. The pale sword clattered on the stone floor.

Her ears went numb. No longer did she hear the howling wind or the terrified cries of her hobbits. There was only the muffled sound of her heart hammering in her chest.

Her knees disobeyed her will and fell to the floor. Elysia barely managed to place a palm against the floor to steady herself. She reached for the corrosive pain leeching what strength remained in her shoulder and her upper right arm. Her fingers felt the warm, wet edge of a metal shard stuck just beneath her collar bone, but before she could pull out the fragment, it crumbled into dust, leaving her wound open and bleeding.

Sweat trickled at her brow, and the stray hairs freed from her braid began to stick to her face. Despite the cool air, she wanted to gag. Black magic was writhing its way within her, strangling her spirit. It was trying to take her flame. It wanted to wield her magic, take it for its own.

It was a scream from a voice all too familiar that broke her from the black trance. Her body became alert once more, recoiling back to reality.

A Nazgúl had raised its sword on her fallen figure, intent on skewering her from her back to her gut. Elysia dodged with a roll to her side.

As the sword missed its mark, the dragon's hands reached two ways. One found its grip on the handle of a fallen falchion, while the other wrapped itself around the leather handle of a sapphire pommeled sword strapped to her back.

With a yank, she pulled Faersing loose from its place on her back, sheath and all while slicing the standing wraith, clean off its legs with Silvindr.

Her body felt sluggish and cold. The burning poison was beginning to turn to ice in her veins. It was trying to stop her from resisting, stop her from fighting. But a dragon's fire was not so easily extinguished.

As the two ring wraiths realized their brethren had been outmatched by the swordswoman, they armed themselves and moved towards her.

Then she saw the little hobbit, lying against the broken pillars, blue eyes dulled by mortal pain.

It had been _Frodo's _anguish she heard.

When she realized her ears had captured the gut wrenching sound of _Frodo's_ agonized scream, the ice began to melt and the embers of her will blazed into an wind began to howl and moan even louder, and under its caress, Silvindr's edge sang of a deadly promise.

The black tongue echoing around her began to quell, for there was something far greater than the foul speech that flooded her mind. The world seemed to move slowly, as if time was holding its breath, waiting for her course of action.

The Morgul wounds she bore did nothing to deter her movement now. Too much fire has been awoken.

Merry and Pippin, who arrived at her side when she fell in attempts to aid her, found themselves staring at the sheathed tip of her second sword.

"Hold it!" Elysia all but snarled.

They obeyed the command immediately, grabbing the fine dark blue leather scabbard. It was warm in their hands and it… was _humming_…?

Storm clouds gathered in anticipation, fueled by her will. The wind stirred and seemed to rotate around her, rising and swirling about her standing form.

Her grip on the handle of Faersing turned tight, paling her knuckles. The sapphire pommel seemed to wink and burn as if flame was licking it from within.

When the first Nazgúl came to lunge at her, Elysia moved forward and yanked Faersing out from its scabbard. The sapphire pommel seemed to wink and burn as if flame was alive from within.

...

Aragorn had climbed up the watch tower as fast as he could, dreading what he would find on the top. He could only hope that the hobbits were alive, hope that Elysia's might would match and stall the riders. His torch roared and burned as the gales around him no longer caressed the stone but violently collided with everything in its path.

What he had hoped was slightly different from what he saw.

He nearly lost the grip on his torch by the sight that would forever be ingrained into his mind.

The sight of Elysia, drawing forth a sword from a scabbard Merry and Pippin had been holding. As she unsheathed the hand-and a half sword, storm clouds from above rumbled and roared. Like lightning, the woman lunged forward and swung the blade in a blinding blue blur.

The wraith barely had time to lift its sword up and parry the blow, but the moment the sword met the jagged edge, the Nazgúl's blade did something Aragorn had never seen a wraith's sword do against another blade.

It _shattered_ like splinters of ice, and the blue blur sliced the tall form of the undead servant straight across its armored torso. The wraith released an unearthly howling shriek.

It's comrades nearby seemed to be taken aback, and a cacophony of incredulous screeches followed. The wounded wraith writhed and began to kneel.

Like the oncoming storm, merciless and enraged, Elysia did not hesitate to lash at the next wraith. With a flash of fiery blue, another wraith was maimed as its hand fell from its arm. With her falchion in one hand and a half and the sapphire pommeled, she spun like a cyclone of blades twisting this way and that, blocking and slicing through the Nazgúl.

Breaking out of his stupor, Aragorn quickly joined in on the fight. He lit the frayed cloak of an incoming wraith before lunging at another with a battle cry. The wraiths began to scatter like bats in the night, shrieking in a chaotic flurry.

When the last wraith fled into the night with a torch stuck in its face, courtesy of Aragorn, he turned to Elysia. Her swords finally went still in her white grip. A crack in the clouds allowed the moon to peek through and illuminate Weathertop, and with its light Aragorn focused his gaze on the most peculiar long sword.

The hand and half sword had a long edge, concaving as it neared the crossguard. An ovular star sapphire donned its pommel, held firmly in place by four claws of pale, almost star-like metal. But it was the blade that captured most of the ranger's focus. The blade was blue, a paler shade of blue than the scabbard but blue no less. Cable like streams patterned the surface of the deadly blade as if the flames in which it was forged left a permanent mark.

Under the moon, its brief sheen winked a deadly sapphire hue as though it was jovial upon being summoned, gloating its freedom and victory against the lesser blades that had the misfortune of crossing its path.

The sword was a thing of menacing beauty. It was a weapon that petrified foes and mesmerized comrades with its terrifying splendor, and it was held in a being whose appearance belied her strength upon first glance.

She stood there tall, dangerous, and resolute despite her petite frame, and the blue sword did not appear to be some mere weapon she wielded. It appeared to be an extension of her proud being.

...

Faersing's leather handle felt warm under her grasp, and the sword seemed to gleam in joy at being summoned to battle, however sudden the battle was. It comforted her, giving the dragon much needed strength and savagery against the darkness assaulting her spirit.

But at the sound of Frodo's agony, the savagery quickly dissipated. She whirled and rushed Frodo and set Silvindr and Faersing swiftly but gently on the ground near her. As her ferocity began to fade, so did the stormy skies. The light of the moon began to spread further and brighter.

"Frodo…" Elysia whispered as she knelt beside him. It stung her body to do so, but she took little heed in her own pain.

Frodo gritted his teeth and his stricken face twisted her insides. On the left side of his chest, there was a puncture wound.

"Strider!" She barked as she gently brushed Frodo's stray curly locks from his face.

The said ranger came and quickly assessed Frodo's condition. Grabbing the foul blade near Frodo, he scowled.

"He's been stabbed by a Morgul blade."

Elysia's breath hitched. Her own wounds from the blade seemed to throb. The dark spell poisoning her was pulsating, gloating at its victory.

"Can you help him?" She managed to croak.  
>Elysia's abilities with healing were mediocre, never being one to really need much in tending to her own wounds with her draconian vigor. She read books and scrolls upon medicine and healing in her long years, but had little firsthand experience, much less on how to heal a hobbit.<p>

Strider moved and picked up the wounded Halfling. "This is beyond my abilities. He needs elvish medicine."

Elysia's own Morgul wounds were dismal in comparison to the wound her little one bore. It laced her with heart twisting guilt. Morgul wounds were cursed. A single puncture, regardless of whether or not it strikes any vitals, is capable of bringing a strong man down on his knees. To be struck with a Morgul shaft was detrimental, but to be wounded by a Morgul blade, most likely the first of its accursed creations, wielded by one of the Nazgúl… It would be fatal.

A spike of pain nearly sent Elysia stumbling on her footing. Her dark garments concealed the wet warmth of blood leaking from her wounds. The deepest of which were inflicted on her torso and on the other side of her waist.

Should they had been caused by any other weapon, her body's vigor would have sealed the bleeding and within a day or so, she would have recovered. However, the curse imbued within the Morgul blade warred against her own body's magic.

To say that it was problematic was an understatement. This entire situation had become disastrous within minutes on Weathertop, and Elysia felt the brunt of the fault fall on her. She had been inadequate, too careless with the hobbits, too deep in her thoughts.

She then heard Frodo call out for Gandalf and then her, and it was breaking her heart.

_Ebrithil… Bilbo… I failed you._

They ran through the woods until they entered a wide enough clearing, quickening their pace when they heard the screech of the wraiths. In the back of her mind, she recognized the place; three monstrous troll statues cracked and covered in vegetation. It has been decades since that incident where Bilbo fist snagged trouble.

There was little time reminisce of lighter times. Aragorn settled Frodo down on a bed of grass. The hobbit was ashen, convulsing and twitching. Elysia once again knelt to his side.

"Little one." At the sound of her voice, Frodo gasped and his glassy eyes lied upon her.

"Elly…"

"I am here, little one." She soothed. "Keep your eyes on me."

"It… I-it… G-Gandal-"

"Hush, Frodo." She grasped his hand and the blade of guilt in her heart twisted mercilessly. His hand was so cold and clammy, lying feebly in her hold.

Wraiths howled in the night, and while Elysia tended to Frodo, Strider grabbed Sam by the shoulder. "Sam, have you ever heard of the Athelas?"

"Athelas?" The words were foreign to his tongue.

"Kingsfoil. It's a weed." Elysia informed without looking away from Frodo. "It will help slow the poison."

They left to search for the plant in a hurry. Meanwhile, Elysia drowned in her guilt. How could she have let this happen? How could she fail Gandalf like this? Frodo hadn't just been injured by a knife or nicked by a sword; he had been _stabbed, _stabbed by a _Morgul _blade under her guard after she promised. She didn't just fail Gandalf. She failed Frodo and even Bilbo. Bilbo trusted her with Frodo, and Frodo trusted her to keep him protected from harm like this. How could she have let this happen to her precious little one?

_**You are still weak… **_

Elysia froze. A voice echoed in her mind, alien, gurgling with malice.

_**Weak and insufficient…**_

This wasn't her mind's voice. It felt far too evil.

_**You lack strength… you lack power. You were a weak, pathetic thing then. You still are now… Even with all those around you who encourage you. They have put their faith in a fickle thing. **_

She wanted to scream, to dig her nails into her scalp and scream away the voice.

_**A last hope for a dying race… You will fail… You already have failed one… you will fail them all.**_

This voice was chipping her away into madness.

Then there was a sudden, sacrosanct light.

It was so bright; it seemed to force the black voices to shy away from her spirit.

An aroma caught her notice, breaking her from her own lapse in sanity. She looked up and confirmed the unmistakable scent of an elven rider approaching them. The she-elf leapt off her pale horse with inhuman grace and moved towards them, the halo of radiance following her fair footsteps.

Elvish words rolled off her tongue; her voice soft and musical.

_"I am Arwen… I have come to help you…"_ Those words were directed to Frodo, who was equally mesmerized by the elven maiden in his agony.

Elysia recognized the name and the radiant appearance. This maiden is the daughter of Elrond, Arwen Evenstar, Fair Lady of Rivendell.

_"Hear my voice… Come back to the light."_

But as lovely as her voice was, whatever enchantment she was attempting seemed to have little effect. Frodo's grip on Elysia's hand became nonexistent.

"He is fading." Her panic rose as her hand wiped the sweat from his sallow face.

Arwen was by Frodo's other side in an instant. "He's not going to last."One look upon that deathly ill face and milky eyes told the elf enough.

Elysia said nothing but gave the woman a fearsome glare, daring her to say Frodo was hopeless. If the she-elf uttered those words and gave up on Frodo, she will burn off that pretty dark hair from her precious scalp.

Arwen was not offended. Her eyes merely became saddened at the pain evident in Elysia. "We must take him to my father."

The ranger lifted Frodo from the ground and away from Elysia. Her grasp slipped from Frodo's clammy hand.

"I've been looking for you for two days." Arwen stated as they headed to her steed. "There are five wraiths behind you, where the other four are I do not know."

As Frodo was propped onto the saddle, his head lolled feebly. Elysia grabbed her waterskin and snatched the remaining Athelas plant from Sam's hand. She began to quickly chew on the weed into a pulp before spitting it into her water pack. Sealing the cap, she shook it a few times in her hand and marched to Frodo's free side.

Arwen and the ranger were speaking in elvish, softly arguing with each other. Arwen reasoned she was the faster rider, but the ranger was concerned with the dangers. In any other situation, it would be rather touching for Elysia to witness, but in a time like this it was making her angry.

She pulled Frodo from the saddle and into her arms, unscrewing the bottle. Carefully, like a mother with a bottle, she began to feed Frodo the water. It mostly spilled from his lips, but Elysia managed to have him swallow a few gulps. Tossing her empty water sack to the side, she held him close for a moment.

"The stars watch over you, little one." She whispered into his ear before setting him back up the white horse. "Forgive me… Please forgive me and _live."_

Time was short, and Elysia's patience ran as thin as a blade.

"If both of you keep arguing, I am going to cut off your tongues." She hissed savagely, focusing on Strider. "Hold your romantic chivalry, ranger. If this she-elf is the faster rider then let her ride. Frodo's time is hanging by a hairline thread, and I will not have you waste any more of it."

Strider's eyes narrowed in anger while Arwen was somewhat abashed. Elysia offered no apology or look the slightest remorseful at her insult and threat. Even with that voice, radiance, and high status, Arwen could be as mighty as Galadriel of Lothlórien and she'll care as much as she cared for dirt.

The ranger opened his mouth to argue, but Arwen looked to him imploringly.

"She is right, we are wasting time." She gazed deep into those eyes she grew to love. "I do not fear them."

At her determined gaze, Strider's resistance died. He helped the she-elf leapt onto her saddle.

"Arwen." His heart beat fast as the lovely name escaped his lips. "Ride hard, don't look back."

Arwen urged her horse forward with urgent words and rode into the night, leaving Elysia and Strider staring at her departing.

"Those wraiths are still out there!" Sam cried in indignant rage. Elysia whirled her gaze to him.

"And if he stays with us, he will become one of them." Her voice was hollow.

Without another word or notice to any others, she began to walk. The others followed after some hesitation.

When she passed his silent form, Aragorn's keen sight finally spotted the darkness staining her arm. With Frodo wounded and her midnight garb already dark, he hadn't noticed. But with the torchlight, there was that telltale gleam.

"You're bleeding."

"What of it?" She snapped as she continued to walk through the forest.

The ranger quickened his pace to walk side by side with the woman. He scrutinized her stony face briefly before staring ahead.

"Do not fret. It will do nothing for Frodo, but he is in good hands." He said.

"Cease your feeble attempts to ease my conscious, Dunedain." Her reply was frigid, but there was sorrow under the ice, sorrow and fear.

_**Everything you love will die. You will be left alone, with naught but the company of your failures. **_

_BE SILENT BLACK TONGUE._

_**Be it silence or be it loud, the truth shall remain the truth.**_

She wanted to fly. She wanted to set something ablaze, break something, anything to keep the dark voices from rolling their tongues in her mind.

Aragorn saw the strain in her jaw. There was something amiss. He could see, now, the wounds she bore in the dim light. It appeared as though the fragments of something broken had torn at the upper sleeve of her right arm and punctured her shoulder. The telltale sign of blood was also spotted on her left waist.

Recalling the way the Nazgúl's swords shattered against her blue sword's swing, Aragorn deduced. Had the fragments of some blade struck her? Was that what was causing such discomfort? Were they stuck? No… It appeared to be something else.

~O~O~O~O~O~

They trekked long and hard, this time with Elysia in the lead. The company was quiet in their anxiety, but eventually they had to stop for it was still dark and the hobbits were exhausted.

They camped under the pine woods. The hobbits slept, huddled together for comfort and warmth. Elysia had covered them with an extra blanket before she set herself down against the base of a tree. After a pause, a shuffle was heard as the ranger sat by her side. Elysia fought the urge to growl like a wounded animal.

"The wound will fester." He didn't miss the scowl forming at her lips.

Elysia wanted to say "let it" but that was a childish thing to do.

Instead, she made no sound nor moved a muscle. A sigh was heard and suddenly, she felt him gently touch the tattered sleeve of her wounded arm.

Now she didn't refrain. A hiss escaped her and her pupils nearly turned into slits. Strider stared at her, quirking his brow with a scowl of his own. Did this woman just _hiss_ at him?

Determined and a little annoyed at her stubborn and bizarre behavior, he didn't release his gentle hold on her sleeve. He opened the ripped blood soaked cloth wider, astonished by the startling heat of her blood and skin. Was she feverish? She felt that way, but her face had yet to break any cold sweat or looked sickly in any way.

Perplexed, he continued his examination and his frown deepened. Her upper arm had a cluster of uneven punctures, small yet bleeding quite profusely. However, that was the least of what bothered him.

This was no mere flesh wound. The surrounding skin of the tissue was tainted dark, veining out like marks of black lightning charred under the skin; the blood was dark and the flesh was blued. The blood oozed from the wounds, resembling thickened sap.

"You were wounded by a Morgul blade." His discovery darkened his voice. He undeniably frustrated that it was not known sooner.

"Perceptive." She snidely remarked, although her face lost some color.

"Why haven't you done anything about this, at the least bind it? Gathered more Athelas?" Strider nearly snarled, forcing himself to control his voice to not wake the hobbits.

"If you haven't noticed, we have been preoccupied as of late, and I've done what was needed with the last of the Athelas." She deadpanned and then cut him off before he could continue.

"Stop fretting." She snapped. "And stop touching my arm, you'll get it dirty."

"The curse… It's poison is slow, but regardless it is still affecting you. You will become one of them if we cannot make it to Rivendell in time." Strider warned.

"I am aware" He was surprised by her apathy.

There was a moment of silence before Elysia spoke, the cutting edge gone and in its place was a quieted air of forlorn sorrow.

"Kill me… before it happens."

She would rather be run through with the ranger's sword than become one of them. The thought of a dragon becoming a wraith was nauseating. An abomination as such should never exist.

The ranger stared at her long and hard. "No, there has to be another way."

"I'm not asking to be slain at this moment, you smelly fool." She snapped. "But if all else fails and we do not make it to the House of Elrond in time, do what you must and just end the misery."

"We will make it. I do not doubt your strength." His defense was a little flattering, if not exasperating. Men and their sense of honor, it was really blinding him from the situation.

Seeing his resolve, Elysia felt too tired to argue. "Nevertheless, I trust you will do what must be done if it is inevitable."

Strider almost looked pained, puzzling Elysia. For barely knowing her, he was getting rather sentimental.

"This is not inevitable and it never shall be inevitable. We will make it to Rivendell and you will be cured." His certainty was fierce.

He then pulled out a roll of linen from his pack and began to wrap her upper arm. This time, Elysia did not protest. She seemed lost in thought. They stared at the sky with that same air of longing.

They remained in silence for quite some time. Strider said nothing as he sat against the tree by Elysia's side. The stars twinkled down upon them, bringing little comfort as they gazed up towards the heavens.

"I wish not to fall…"

Aragorn turned to her once more. Her eyes mirrored the glittering pelt of stars, far away and pensive. It was a much sadder expression than the time he caught her stargazing in the marshes. He remained silent, encouraging her to speak her mind.

"I promised... I promised." Her voice softened.

"… Promised what? To whom?" She wasn't making sense to him.

She closed her eyes, inhaled deeply through her nose, and held her breath. She remembered those final days… Those words…

"… _L-live... P-P__lease live."_

The first and last plea of a most cherished person.

Elysia opened her eyes. Just as she gazed at the sky once more, a meteor whisked through the night, disturbing the still picture of heaven's glittering jewels.

"To live…" She answered. "I promised _her_ I'd live."

"_**You will die… You will perish, lest you become stronger."**_

As if to confirm the dark voice, her wounds began to burn. Elysia grimaced. Her hand came to her head and gripped her scalp painfully in her desperate attempt to rip the poison in her mind.

"_**Power comes only to those with ambition to seize it… to use it… to submit to it."**_

Elysia gasped. Against her will, her mind began to flicker images into her mind, retrieving memories that were long buried.

_ The world around her was red. The stars were gone. There was too much smoke in the air. She couldn't breathe. The air reeked of metals and cinder. _

_ Why was the world so red…?_

_ Where was mother?_

"_**The world will fall around you. Darkness is to come and reign upon this Middle Earth. It is inevitable… You will fall… you will DIE… lest you succumb."**_

_No… No, no, no, NO-_

"Elysia!"

His voice called her back. Elysia's eyes opened, and it came to her realization she had been huddling, fingers digging into the damp earth while she remained hunched on her knees.

Not one second ago, she had been silent and still, but Aragorn watched as it quickly changed. Her face twisted and she began to shrink as though she suffered pain. Her breath had come in ragged breaths while she muttered unintelligible things. He panicked and had called out to her, but she ignored him until he was knelt by her, arms stretched as though he was tempted to hold her still.

When she ceased her trembling, Aragorn rested a hand on her back.

"Elysia…" He whispered. It didn't take a man raised by the elves to know what ailed her.

"I can feel it growing. It's holding my mind in chains." Her voice shivered. "It's caging my body… It's speaking to me, whispering words of death… it wants me to yield. Like many others before me… It wants me to succumb."

"You must fight it." Aragorn encouraged. "You… You are not the others before you… You are yourself. You are strong."

When he uttered those assuring words, Aragorn felt hypocrisy sting his throat. They were words that his friends and family repeated to him all throughout his life.

"I…" She bit her lip. "I want to live."

Her words bled with desperation, with hidden fear.

"You will." His hand gripped hers, calloused and firm. "You mustn't let the evil taint your will. You mustn't fall to it. You will perish if you do. Your body may not perish, but your spirit, the essence of you who are will die." She was silent, and Aragorn leaned to her ear.

"Remember your promise… You promised to live… Twas not a promise to exist… To merely survive and exist as an empty shell… You promised to _live._"

His words began to bore holes into her head, swaying the haunt of the black tongue.

Elysia stilled. The ranger was right…. She promised…

No matter what suffering… what grief… what despair came her way, she will live, and she will do so with pride. She must live as herself and as no one else.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6 - The Unspoken Spoken

_A wise man once said, "Words are pale shadows of forgotten names. As names have power, words have power. Words can light fires in the minds of men. Words can wring tears from the hardest hearts." –Patrick Rothfuss-_

_The language of truth… It was a linguistic system all dragons new inherently since the time they remained within their egg. Its origins are vague, even to the oldest of the scaled folk. Some of the draconic scholars believed that it was what was used to sing the Song of Creation, in the time the Ainur had begun molding the world. Others said it was a language designed by the will of the first dragons who combined their strengths to weave raw magic into each word, magic that could not be deceived. _

_ Wherever the ancient language's origin's lie, they seem to hold the very essence of the things they name. Thus, lies could not be spoken in the dragon tongue, only truths, and thus vows made in it could not be broken. Every single word spoken in the ancient tongue had its own potential to wield a great power. _

_The dragons began to use the potent language within their crafts, and a unique craft in particular was the dragon's beloved craft for songs._

_Dragon-songs made up the heart of draconian culture; it aided them in casting enchantments and weaving spells, even curses._

_Imagine… If a single word is of great significance. What could be the significance of an entire speech? A book? A poem? _

_Or a song?_

_/_

_/_

_/_

~O~O~O~O~O~

"Do not let them know." They were alone again, out of earshot of any small folk. The hobbits were resting after another day of wary travel.

It's been three days, and their pace hadn't brought them any further to reaching Rivendell in the time the ranger hoped to arrive.

He whipped his head to her, having been in the midst of preparing her a draught with the Athelas he managed to gather.

"Your… condition has not gone unnoticed. By the hour, the hobbits are noticing more and more that something is amiss with you."

By the day, Elysia grew weaker. It was only a matter of time before the hobbits realized that their ever so resilient protector was diminishing. She put up an impressive front before them, but the ranger saw the hood under her eyes grow heavier. Her olive skin was paling, looking almost ashen, and those eyes… Once sharp as polished blades, they were beginning to dull with weariness.

When they were left alone to manage camp and watch guard, he saw the extent of her illness. The walls of her countenance crumbled before him and she breathed a haggard sigh. They formed a quiet bond that night he unveiled her wound. The ranger took the responsibility to tend to the dragon with every chance he managed to take, albeit Elysia was unresponsive to it. He mixed her water with the Kingsfoil weed and applied a salve to her wound (after much glaring and hissing from the dragon). In time, his persistence bore fruit as Elysia relented to his care, too exhausted to resist.  
>It was a positive but worrying sign. Her once bottomless strength was waning faster than they were travelling.<p>

"… Just leave them be from unpleasant things." Elysia sighed. "It changes nothing if they know or remain in the dark, only their morale."

"We can push forward, quicken our pace."

"Our priority is to arrive at Imaldris unscathed." Elysia argued. "To quicken our pace is to risk capture. I will not put your lives in such peril for my sake."

They were all exhausted. Should they encounter the Nazgúl, the ranger needed his strength to match them, but he didn't seem to see her reason.

Those keen eyes darkened to a glare.

"Your own _life_ is on the line, Elysia."

Elysia fought the urge to roll her eyes. Ever so noble, this Northern ranger was. "Alas, raggedy ranger. You are quite the stubborn Dunedain."

"Has the poison muddled your brain?" The Dunedain did not share her eerie calm. "Are you not aware-"

"That I am dying?" Elysia said dryly. "That I have been poisoned by a dark blade, on the verge of being tainted to become a fallen rider?... Why yes… I have noticed. After all… Tis _I_ who is poisoned, and _I_ who is dying, you shabby moron."

Whether she stunned him to silence with her nonchalance or her insult, or both, it was unclear, but the ranger shook his head with a look of the utmost unbearable irritation.

The sight earned him a snort of amusement. The difficult, pallid woman was giving him a smirk, amused by his thinning patience.

"You... You. Are. Impossible." He gritted his teeth, fighting the urge to run his hand through his hair in frustration.

"Yet I exist." Elysia's smirk was wicked. "An impossible thing that is possible. Now that sounds rather impossible."

"For a lady of great pride, you are unbecomingly facetious." It didn't take a socially gifted individual to be aware that the ranger wished to say something far more unpleasant. It was almost impressive. He had the patience of a saint. How very noble.

"And you are rather scruffy for a man who is supposed to be the King of Gondor."

"Cease your prodding at the state of my cleanliness!" He was seething now. "Has it not occurred to you that living in the wilds has little luxury of perfumes and soa- what did you say?"

His rage dissipated like fire doused in cold water. Did this maiden knew who he truly was?"

Elysia's smirk faded, but the glee did not fade from her piercing gaze.

"The Ring of Barahir." She divulged upon seeing the face asking a number of silent questions. "Now I know where I have heard of you, Estel… Or should I say, Aragorn, son of Arathorn. You are Isildur's heir."

Aragorn stiffened, but she continued.

"I have existed in these lands for over a thousand years, raggedy ranger, did you think I would have naught a clue to who is bestowed the right to the throne of men? You may not appear to be of kingly birthright." She scowled, and her gaze perused his unkempt clothes in blatant disdain. "But I can smell it in your blood."

"My blood?"

"The scent of a Dunedain is different from that of an average man. Magic has prolonged your lives, but throughout the years it has been watered by breeding with women of lesser magic in their veins. However, that remains untrue with the line of Elendil. The mana within the royal bloodline… _your _bloodline has always had more potency than the rest."

The ranger, Aragorn, wore a face void of expression. His gazed lingered at her for a moment longer before he casted his eyes away.

"What of it? So I had been born into a line of power hungry men."

The displeasure in his voice was not unheard by the dragon, although it surprised her.

"You bear disdain for your noble blood?"

"The path chosen by my forefathers has paved a way for darkness." Aragorn said ominously. "Is that something I should take pride in?"

"Your path is not like those before you." Elysia frowned, puzzled by this royal man's…uncertainty. "You bear Isildur's blood, not his spirit… Nevertheless," she continued, gazing back at the sky. It was clouded, but the twinkle of starlight still peeked through the clouds' cracks "I won't tell the others. It's not my secret to tell. Your lineage may be of great importance to the race of men, but it matters little to one such as myself."

She then turned to the man. And despite her ill form, Aragorn felt an authority born by age press upon him.

"For as of now… you have exiled yourself and rejected your birthright… To me, you are nothing but a mere raggedy ranger, and it shall remain as such for the time being."

He stared at her, long and hard. Then he gazed at the ring on his finger and a great sigh escaped him.  
>"Tis a birthright I do not want."<p>

"Yes, well that tends to happens to even the best and the many, raggedy ranger." Elysia deadpanned. "I did not want to be born in the time that I was, and Frodo… The little one never asked for the Ring." Her tone became more hushed. "But everything that happens… It has its reason. The reason may be undefined by us in the moments we remain confused, but the reason exists nonetheless…" She then flinched and clenched her jaw.

By now, Aragorn knew what disturbed her. They had little luxury to talk of such things when Elysia's life was being balanced on the edge of time's blade.

/

/

"_**You hunger for flesh… You crave it… You are a creature born of wrath and fire. You were born to bring death, to water the lands with the blood of your kills."**_

_Cease your lies._

"_**I am your heart's voice. I cannot be silenced. Where there is fire, there is light. Where there is light, there will always be shadow… and I am the shadow born by your heart's fire. You cannot silence me, lest you silence yourself."**_

Elysia bit her lips until they drew blood, fighting the whimper daring to escape her mouth. The others were resting. Aragorn, after keeping watch for two nights, could no longer fight the call to rest and slept against a tree. She had volunteered to keep watch, but in the silence, the black language was clawing her insides. Her wounds burned and her very bones felt brittle.

"_**You see them… resting so peacefully in the night… burdensome creatures, all of them."**_

_They are my friends._

"_**They are a burden. Should the foolish one have had any common sense, you would not have been inflicted this wound…. Does it not anger you?"**_

The twisted words were angering her.

"_**They value nothing of your promise… They care nothing for nothing of your heart… In time, they will see your power. They will see you, and they will fear you, hate you, despise you… They will see you as nothing but a mere monster like many before you."**_

_THEY WILL NOT!_

"_**A monster, a fire breathing, wretched wyrm. The elves of Rivendell with slay you where you stand if this ranger does not."**_

_All the better. Then you'll be silenced._

"_**Oathbreaker… You will be nothing but an Oathbreaker…"**_

_It's not my fault_

"_**No… It is their fault… They should be suffering in your place. It is they who should feel the agony…. Kill them… Slay them… Cut their throat in the night."**_

Pictures of them frothed in her blackened mind; mauled, disfigured, lying in their gore with empty, fearful eyes gazing at her.

Elysia sealed the sob escaping her mouth with the back of her hand. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears as she swallowed the bile threatening to rise.

/

/

/

~O~O~O~O~O~

They were silent. The hobbits were quieter now, not even Pippin seemed to say much even as they travelled at a fast pace. With Frodo's fate unknown, they were in a hurry to arrive at Rivendell in hopes to see Frodo alive. Elysia remained silent, concentrating on anything but the slow growing agony crippling her strength. Cursing this form for its vulnerability to blades and sharp things, Elysia kept her infirmity concealed under a stern bearing.

Aragorn kept a watchful eye on Elysia. They have been travelling with little rest and little food, hurrying to reach Rivendell. She hadn't slept once, not even a nap, and her appetite was scarce.

It was the fifth day when Elysia's countenance began to waver. She could not sleep for fear of nightmares consuming her mind, and the darkness was whispering at her, shadowing her every move, breathing down her neck.

The hobbits readied their beds, too tired to complain or care at the cold and discomfort anymore. Elysia waited for them to fall asleep—which wasn't long—before she wandered off once more. She suspected the ranger to follow as always, to assess her condition.

Aragorn trailed after Elysia, no longer making effort to hide that he was. She guided him to the river and stopped a few steps into the water. Undoing her weapons from their place on her back and hip, she settled near the water, leaning against a large boulder. As Aragorn walked up to her to question her odd place of rest, his jaws only tightened at the sight.

Elysia was looking forlornly pained and weakened. Black veins had crawled up the surface of her neck, bluing her skin. In the dark they had not noticed. The poison's progress was hidden by the dark. He cursed himself for his ignorance.

She leaned her head against the boulder to stare up at him. Those eyes filmy, clouded. It was as if she saw everything but him.

"Strider…."

Her husky timbre broke, her throat sounded dry, strangled by her struggle.  
>When she said his name, he knew what came next.<p>

"No." Aragorn shook his head.

"… Strider… By tomorrow, I will not…" She couldn't finish her sentence. Her calm had faded with the last of her strength.

"If we move now, we can reach Rivendell by tomorrow." He justified desperately. "We can save you."

"Aragorn… Please." She hated to beg, but she was also growing desperate… and afraid.

Her words almost broke him. "No… I cannot do it." Aragorn whispered. "Elysia, I will not end you." He couldn't.

With all her bluntness, hostility, and at times insulting interactions with him, she was not evil and while Aragorn could not say for certain what she deserved, he knew with a sense of absolution that she did _not_ deserve death.

"If you are truly noble, then you will end my misery." Elysia forced.

"Then I am not noble." Aragorn countered. "Because I refuse to give a person a fate they do not deserve."

"As if you know what I deserve." Elysia snarled.

She mustered the strength to rise albeit shakily. She used the boulder for support and glared at Aragorn.

"That may be true!" Aragorn cried. "But it certainly is not _this_."

"Whether it is to be deserved or not, it is not for you to decide." Elysia gritted her teeth. "It is my life, my wager… And I shall not have my life be forfeited to darkness. I will not let it…. I'd rather _die_ than become like them."

"_**You shall die as an Oathbreaker then… A failure…. Unable to redeem the vows you swore to your friends… your kind… your **_**mother.**_**"**_

"I'd rather die…" She hissed, baring her teeth. Her eyes were shut tight as she fought the darkness. "I shall decide when my choice is still my own, and I choose to _die_."

"_**YOU PROMISED."**_

"It's not yours to choose!" Aragorn snarled, breaking her away from her spirit's war. "Because your life is in _my_ hands, and in my hands, I shall not do it!"

"Then you have doomed yourself and your race." Elysia's snarl became almost guttural as it took on a savage edge.

Aragorn almost stepped back when she opened her eyes. Her pupils had thinned into slits.

"For I will become the **bane of all that you love****!" **Her voice grew louder, booming with ancient power. Winds began to howl and the skies rumbled with thunderclouds.

"**The Nazgúl born from nine mortal men shall not compared to the nightmares I shall breed."**

Aragorn almost wished he had his sword by his side, but as fast as she changed, her frightening display ended. The winds began to die and the skies quieted.

Elysia slumped against the rock looking more drained than ever.

"So please… If not for my sake, do it for the others…" She whispered. "I trust you will do what others cannot."

Silence fell between them. Elysia closed her eyes when another wave of agony began to torture her body. The curse was trying to break her body, hoping to break her will.

Elysia convulsed. She choked on her breath and the world began to tilt. Her head touched the waters of the gurgling stream, but the cool touch of liquid did little to ease her.

She heard footsteps. Aragorn was stepping towards her. He kneeled before her and placed a hand beneath her cheek, lifting her face from the water.

"Then trust me… Trust me to save you from this." He whispered pleadingly with earnest eyes before lifting her off the ground and into his arms. Elysia's head slumped weakly against his shoulder.

"… How… stupid." She muttered. "To trust… a fool… I am stupid."

Aragorn ignored her remark and turned,

only to stop at the sight of Pippin staring at Elysia's feeble state in horror. How long had the hobbit been there? How much of their conversation had he heard?

Pippin heard enough. The young hobbit's lower lip trembled. For a few moments, he lost his voice.

"S-she's dying?" He whispered in heartbreaking terror.

Aragorn answered with a command. "Wake the others… We cannot rest until we reach Rivendell."

This time Pippin did not complain. In fact, he ran to the others and promptly yelled at them.

"Get up! Get up!" Pippin cried. "Merry! Sam! Get up! Elly's hurt, and we need to get to Rivendell now!"

Sam and Merry immediately staggered to their feet, sensing the direness of the situation. When Aragorn came, Elysia in his arms, Sam gasped and Merry could say nothing.

/

/

They ran through the night, crossing the river and jumping over streams.

The stars were unseen in the shroud of black clouds. But she imagined she could see them, beyond the billows. They glittered at her, beckoned her to come to them, to join them in the dark heavens. It was a tempting thought now. She would watch over those she loved from above, and remain welcomed amongst those who have fallen and left parts of themselves with the sky.  
>In the sea of stars, perhaps she would be able to find <em>her.<em>

_/_

_"Remember, Elysia… Remember that those we love and are loved by do not part with us for eternity. No… Death is but another journey. And as long as you hold me close to your heart's light, I shall be there with you…. _

_Look to the stars, my little love, and be reminded that I am with you._

_Remember, as you soar beyond the clouds, that your mother is just as much a part of you as the sapphires hue of your scales. _

_And your sire… You may not love him, knowing little of him, but please… please my little light, know and remember that he loves you… _

_Remember our songs…. Remember our dance… Remember I love you… Remember…-"_

"Elly!"

Elysia's eyes fluttered at the sound of Merry's voice.

Merry panted as he ran closer to the ranger holding her, Silvindr jostling in his hold. "Remember?! Remember that time you caught us stealing some pipe weed?!.. (pant)… And you forced us to float in two barrels…(pant)… In the middle of a lake…(pant)… and then you left us there…(pant)… while you had a picnic…(pant)… Right next to the water…"

"Yeah!" Pippin ran beside Merry. "And that time we stuffed fish…(pant)… In Maggot's pillow!" Pippin was holding Faersing, wrapping it in the ranger's cloak, clutching the blue sword by its scabbard close to his chest.

"Pippin, she doesn't know that one!" Merry turned to Pippin. "And wasn't supposed to!" He yelled, smacking Pippin's head.

They had to keep her awake, keep her fighting.

Elysia would have laughed if she had the strength to. The darkness was whispering in her, promising her power beyond anything she could have ever imagined, to become something of beauty admired by all servants of Sauron.

"_**You shall become the greatest of your kind. You can bring forth glory and rebuild what had been lost… come into the darkness. Submit to the greatness."**_

Bitterness swept over her. Who was to blame for everything she had lost?

_Smaug had been great but he was also terrible. Ancalagon the Black was one of the greatest, but he was feared, nothing more than a pet of Morgoth…. _

_Greatness… It matters not if there is nothing good…_

_I want to be someone good… before ever becoming someone great. Someone… like…-_

"Hang on, Elysia." Aragorn encouraged as they ran through what looked like plains of golden grass."Your friends have faith in you, so have faith in yourself."

Elysia's sunken eyes were fighting the urge to remain closed. The sun broke through dark clouds. Its rays rested against the ranger's head.

Sweat poured from his scruffy face. His hair was in scraggly waves. Yet as raggedy as this ranger appeared, with those keen greened blue eyes, he had the essence of someone noble… someone good.

_Aragorn… I want to be someone like Aragorn… He has the potential to become a great king… As of now, he remains a man of honor._

_He is a good being…. a good friend._

When Aragorn heard the sound of the river, he felt his hope rise. They made it. It wouldn't be long after they passed the river's waters for his father's halls to greet them. Arwen would most likely have summoned aid to be ready for them by now.

The company ran down the sloping path and as hoped, they found their feet crossing the shallow rivers bordering the realm of Rivendell.

But Elysia then stirred as they made their way mid-river.

Aragorn's hope faltered when he felt Elysia go rigid in his arms. Her eyes fluttered open, and the silver in the orbs held an eerie glow.

"… Elysia?"

She didn't seem to hear him. Those eyes were empty, staring at the sky.

"Elysia!"

Elysia gasped and began to writhe. Aragorn could no longer hold her and was forced to set her down on the shallow riverbed. When Elysia touched the waters, she went on all fours and began to huddle, hands gripping either arm, nails digging into the flesh.

The hallucinations were becoming more vivid. She could no longer hear the voice of her companions. The world was changing around her.

_**/**_

_**/**_

_**The sky was burning. Demons bathed in fire, wielding swords made of black flame, were slaughtering her brethren. Hordes of dragons, eyes blinded in bloodlust by the taint, were battling with old friends. Somewhere in the distance, she could hear someone scream as their wings were being torn from their very body.**_

_** Was this war? A battle? She had been told that a good battle had its glory. But this sight only served to make her sick. **_

_** This wasn't war… This was annihilation. **_

_** She wanted to scream, where was mother? Was she supposed to fly off the Cliffs on her own? She was too young. Her wings wouldn't hold against the currents.**_

_** They told her to wait for her guardian, stay in hiding, and she obeyed them. She hid herself behind a ruined nest of shattered eggs. **_

_** But where were they? Where was mother? Where were her brothers?**_

_** She wanted to call out to them. After a moment of hesitation she did. **_

_** But her call was drowned by the roar.**_

_**Someone found her, but it wasn't one of her own. **_

_**Great, flaming eyes burning bright from a tall helm, armored in blackened metal. The man rode on a drake. He saw her. **_

_** Stepping down from his saddle, he crunched the debris beneath him as he walked toward her. **_

_** Ten paces away…**_

_** Eight paces…**_

_** Five…**_

_** His hand reached for her, and she saw the golden gleam of a ring on his finger.**_

"ELYSIA!" Aragorn had to keep the hobbits back. She was on the verge of madness. Her back was arched, making gruesome sounds akin to breaking bones. Blue streams of some strange enchantment were surrounding her body, swaying and moving like fire on her skin. Horns had emerged from her head, and in the darkness, Aragorn saw a ripple of pattern pulsate through her skin.

Scales… He was seeing the pattern of scales.

He heard the sound of horses nearing them. His panic skyrocketed, believing it to be the riders catching up to them. But fortune smiled upon him when he saw the white steed followed by two chestnut horses.

Silver armor gleamed as the white rider rode towards them, a radiant star of hope. Shining golden hair haloed around the fair and fearless face of Glorfindel of Rivendell.

Following him were two elven riders with raven hair, faces Aragorn knew all too well. His foster brothers, sons of Lord Elrond, Elrohir and Elladan.

"Estel" Glorfindel's voice was like music. He pulled the reigns of his steed, slowing it to a halt before the company. He spotted the strange magic surrounding Elysia. "What has happened? What sorcery is this?" He could taste the raw power in the air, but it was being caged by something evil.

There was little time for greeting. Aragorn spoke in a rush. "She's been wounded by a Morgul blade. You must summon Lord Elrond."

"_By the Valar, is that Elysia_?" Elladan leapt off his horse. "_Mithrandir's apprentice?"_

Glorfindel frowned and leapt off his horse, elvish words rapidly pouring from his tongue in urgency.

"_Another one? How long?"_

"_Five nights and six days."_ Aragorn informed. _"She has not the strength to rise since last night, but… Something is wrong"_

The air was trembling. Even the hobbits could feel it. Sam stared at Elysia in horror.

"She's… I don't understand, what's happening to Elly?"

They were backed several paces away from Elysia, near the river's edge. Elrohir examined the maiden long and hard before speaking.

"She's fighting. She's fighting the evil… But she will not last. How long since the poison entered her veins, Estel?"

"_Five nights and six days ago."_

"_Five nights? She's a strong one." _Elladan commented, walking precariously closer to Elysia. "Lady Elysia… Hear my voice." He may not have mastered the arts of healing magic as his father has, but he knew some.

Glorfindel, far more experienced than many of Rivendell, warned him. "_Elladan! Keep back!-"_

But it was too late. Elladan had reached to place a hand on Elysia's shoulder but the wounded maiden violently lashed out an arm.

The warrior elf was propelled back by a wave of raw power. The bones in his arm broke with a sickening crack. He fell back on the edge of the river, against the pebbles, groaning.

"_Brother!" _Elrohir went to his brother's aid.

Elyia let out a snarl, causing Glorfindel and Aragorn to reflexively reach for their swords.

"S-STAY… WAY!"

Elysia was lost. Her mind was split in two. Reality was before her, but her nightmares were chaining her to memories she never wanted to relive. It was pulling her back again, stronger now, and Elysia could do nothing as her mind was swept into darkness once more.

_**/**_

_**/**_

_**She was there again… This time she knew… She knew what she would see, in her last moments upon the Eyrie. **_

_** Sauron was reaching for her and she could do nothing, she was cornered like a bird caged with a cat. **_

_** But she was saved in the nick of time. The howling roar was like music to her ears, filling her with hope. Her mother has come for her, and with her was her brother, her guardian. **_

_** Sauron's focus was swayed. He turned and was pushed back by a mighty mass of blue scales and white claws. A familiar scent and the sight of green began to surround her small form, her brother, ready to protect her. **_

_** Mother was going to win. She knew it now. Her mother was strong. She was powerful. She will win and they shall escape together-**_

_** "TAKE HER… TAKE HER AND FLY."**_

_** No… No…**_

_** "NO! MENOA-"**_

_** "DO AS I SAY!" The blue dragon snarled, and with a mighty swing of her tail, struck the fallen Maia away. **_

_** Her brother shared her feelings. "Menoa, come with us!"**_

_** "Protect your sister! Guard her with your fire! Your claws! Your life! Do you understand me, Vraiel?"**_

_** Her brother, also strong, also noble, looked torn. But there was little time.**_

"_**I understand."**_

"_**NO!" She couldn't stop her tears. "DON'T LEAVE! DON'T LEAVE ME TOO."**_

_**The blue drake gazed upon her, the war hardened gaze softening.  
><strong>_"_**Remember my words, Elysia… Remember them and remember me…. Now go."**_

_**But Sauron was not so easily deterred, and he will not let them escape so soon. **__**Something shot towards them in the dark. Crimson and black, it streaked through the haze.**_

_** It would've struck her and Vraiel, but a blue body obscured their view.**_

_** And she felt warmth splatter her hide. **_

_** Then the blue drake, the one person she thought strong and everlasting, fell before her. Silver eyes met pained, sapphire orbs. **_

"… _**l-live… P-please live."**_

_**/**_

**"ME**NOA!"

/

Her anguished cry echoed in the darkness. The streams of blue began to turn ablaze, and Elysia vanished in the azure inferno as her body arched towards the sky.

Wind howled and spun around her in a furious vortex. Aragorn kept the hobbits behind him as he shielded his eyes from the enchanted fire's burning radiance.

They saw her silhouette in the heart of the magic flame. Something emerged from her back, tearing the seams of her clothes; a pair of wings, veined and patterned with feathered crescents on its leathery skin.

The wings stretched towards the heavens, growing larger and larger. Elysia's scream began to deepen, contorting into a mournful, roaring howl. It was a sound that would cripple the most hardened warrior with grief.

Her open arms began to tremble. Hands that Aragorn had always thought slender despite their strength began to crackle and twist. Nails grew into talons.

It dawned on him. Elysia was no elf nor Istari of any sort. She was something far more… monstrous.

His foster brothers seem to share the same sentiment. They drew their swords, their courage masked by utter horror at the never before seen magic they were witnessing.

"… What evil is this?" Elladan hissed, sword in his unbroken hand. He held his maimed arm close to his chest as he brandished his blade.

Aragorn was torn. His sword remained sheathed. This maiden had proven to him to be formidable, but she was not evil. She was of no ill will, yet what he saw before him made him unsure… it terrified him. The magic in the air weighed heavily on his spirit, beating against his heart. Aragorn looked to Glorfindel for answers, but he received none.

The elf was eerily still, as though his body was set in stone, but he was certainly calmer then they…

No, upon looking more closely Aragorn realized it wasn't so. The elf's eyes were glistening, and his lips were parted. Glorfindel wore a look of pure sorrow… recognition… and hope?

"… _She is the last…."_ He whispered "_Long have I given up hope in seeking those untainted…." _The amazement turned into a lament._ "But it's too late… We were too late."_

"_Glorfindel, you know what sorcery possesses her?" _Elrohir asked, yelling through the howling wind.

Glorfindel said nothing, but he drew his own blade. His heart was grieving and in his eyes, they could see his offensive stance was something he regretted deeply.

Forgotten histories were turned into legends, and legends into myths, but to one who had lived through the forgotten times, the myths were real, and they were precious memories that lingered faintly in his conscious, before a time he was known as Glorfindel of Rivendell. He had lived to see a time when dragons were comrades of old, secretive, mischievous, but no less wise and honorable as the elves. He remembered a time when he was bestowed a great honor. It wasn't acknowledged by his kin, for it was an honor of high clandestine. But it was an honor that he cherished, to be in the presence of scaled beings so old, to encounter their children who were as precious as the elven children, to be called a friend of dragons. It was an honor that faded when Morgoth brought darkness upon Middle Earth.

Long had Glorfindel believed dragons, untainted, pure from the poison of Mordor, would no longer roam peacefully in Middle Earth. Long had he thought he would never see the legendary scaled folk, lest it be on a field of battle sided with the enemy. Until now…

But they were too late. What's worse was that they had been close, so close to saving her before she fell, but by the time they came, she was beginning to succumb.

There was little time and not but one choice. She had to be killed before she changed, before she took her true form. The threat she posed against them all would be far too great. Although it was difficult to bear the idea of it, Glorfindel had to do what was best for the Free People. If another drake submitted to Sauron, they would be lost.

"_Stay back, all of you." _Glorfindel ordered.

The hobbits didn't need to understand the Sindarin tongue to realize what the golden haired elf was going to do with his sword in hand.

"NO!" Merry ran forward, only to be stopped by Aragorn's firm arms. "YOU CAN'T. ELLY IS OUR FRIEND."

Aragorn was torn. Should he stop this madness? Should he fuel the lingering hope of Elysia's salvation? Or should he at least hold the courage to watch someone he deemed as friend die so soon?

Glorfindel moved to strike a blow to her heart, one clean lunge to end her agony. But when he raised his blade and readied his legs to run forward, something caught his elvish sight.

A moth, fluttering in the winds, followed by a massive shadow swooping towards them from above.

They had little time to duck or give a startled cry as a pair of talons came down and slammed on the riverbed. The great gust of wind nearly knocked them back.

Elysia became obscured from them by a great feathered wing of a massive eagle. The eagle turned one intelligent golden eye upon them and let out a piercing cry. Simultaneously, a familiar grey figure leapt from its back.

"**STAY YOUR SWORDS FROM MY APPRENTICE!" **It was rare to see and hear such fury from the old Grey Pilgrim. His voice resounded with ancient might, causing the hobbits to clasp their ears and shrink.

Without question, they obeyed. The wisest option when commanded in such way by a very angry wizard.

"I cannot hold her for long!" The eagle spoke, gaining their attention. He had Elysia caged in his talons, but the blaze around her was growing stronger, stinging the eagle.

Gandalf wasted no time in scolding them. Instead he pointed towards the hobbits.

"The sword! Hurry Took!"

Pippin ran, stumbling in the process, to give Gandalf the sword. Wordlessly, the wizard snatched the sword by its scabbard, tearing away the cloth.

He went forth, and as he did, the great eagle freed the distraught lady from his claws.

"**Faersing… hórna pömnuria rune, Eka aí fricai un Elysia skulblaka-finiarel."**

Neither elf nor man or hobbit could understand the tongue Gandalf uttered, but they could feel its power. The blue sword seemed to react to the foreign speech. Its sapphire pommel began pulsating fire within its crystalline core.

Gandalf immediately raised Faersing, pommel towards the sky, before Elysia. And the strange language began to roll of his tongue in a strange air. They listened thinking it to be a wizard's spell, but as they listened, the words began to echo with a strange lyrical tune. Gandalf seemed to be almost singing, spinning a spell through a voice of song sounding unlike his usual voice.

They understood nothing of the speech, but Elysia seemed to. She jolted upright, the strange, unburning blue flame still leaking from her pores. Silver eyes with serpent slits glared at the wizard who held her blade. Whatever was being sung seemed to enrage the delirious dragon.

She released another howling roar, one of fury.

The horns crowning her head grew larger, forming prongs. The wings began to expand, and her skin seemed to be peeling away to silver dust, revealing a growing layer of sapphire scales hiding under the flesh.

Gandalf remained unfazed by the dragon's growing madness, merely stepping closer. He held Faersing out to her, now glowing from the pommel to the tip of its scabbard. Cable lines of blue radiated from the scabbard's patterned surface.

**"Take thy blade and be in peace. Remember thy oath, thy spirit. Remember thy love and those who love thee."**

The dragon said nothing to acknowledge she heard him. She bared her teeth, revealing a mouth of sharpened white fangs. Scales began to crawl up her right cheek.

Gandalf despaired, fearing he had been too late. In his hesitation, Elysia's clawed hand swung forth.

"Gandalf!" Aragorn yelled. The others looked away, fearing the worst.

... And by some strength of will, Elysia swung forth and grabbed the familiar handle of her blade. The moment she touched Faersing, lightning and fire began to encircle her. Gandalf had little time to be relieved as he was shoved back by a wave of pure force, only to have his landing be softened by Glorfindel's quick catch.

The river's water began to shiver as lightning spun at its surface. From the lightning and fire, blinding white rings began to form around Elysia. Runes, glyphic sigils of unrecognizable origin bled into the rings.

While the enchantments encircled Elysia, her body began to glow. Feathered streams of light began to glide over her skin, from the back of her hands to the tip of her horns. Her braid had become undone, leaving her hair to float around her in a dark halo.

Then all at once, the mystic fire and lightning, the rings of light, and the symbols all vanished. Or more accurately, they imploded into Elysia's kneeling body with a jolt.

There was silence. All waited with baited breaths.

Steam curled from Elysia as she heaved, deep, tired gasps. The feathered lights that once marked her were receding, and as they receded, her scales, the horns on her head, and her wings began to fade and retreat into her skin.

Soon, the men were left with a ragged Elysia, looking worse for wear.

No one spoke… until it was Pippin who broke the silence.

"Merry… I don't think Elly is a vampire… or part werewolf."

His comment earned several looks of utter incredulity. There was a moment where Aragorn appeared sorely tempted to finally lose his generous patience and smack the hobbit. His sentiment was shared by quite a few.

The moment was broken by a throaty chuckle. It came from the said woman, who, although drained, gave Pippin a small, smirk.

"…Foolish… Took." She huffed, before collapsing into the waters of the shallow river.

Glorfindel and Gandalf rushed to her aid before she drowned in her unconscious state.

Dawn began to rise, giving light to the world once more. And as the sun peeked over the edge of the valley, Gandalf lifted the dragon's small frame into his arms.

Eyes half closed, Elysia gave the wizard a feeble glare.

"You're… late."

Her grimaced deepened at the bruises and scabbing wounds mottling his face.

The old grey Istari could only give the dragon a watery chuckle.

"My dear girl. I am a wizard…. I dare say I arrived precisely when I needed to."


	7. Chapter 7

I don't own LOTR

and this site's spacing system (or lack thereof) is really confusing. I'm trying to organize my story to be read more smoothly but it isn't saving the way I want it to. Please forgive me if you notice the trial-by-error I have with this site.

-Mana

* * *

><p>Chapter 7: Scars Seen and Unseen<p>

_Wounds of the flesh heal. They may scar, but they eventually fade. _

_Wounds of the spirit… they are, by far, very different. The difference is undefined, because these wounds cannot be defined in simple terms of cuts, bruises, or burns. The difference makes them volatile, and volatility makes wounds of the spirit all the more dangerous. _

_Because it is difficult to know if, when, or how the wound will fester…._

/

/

There was darkness… Darkness so suffocating, she wanted to scream.

But she had no voice… No body… She felt nothing of being, not even pain or discomfort. She could only hear the beating of her heart.

It was like a war drum, slowly quickening and quickening, growing louder and louder.

This darkness was a foul cage. It was a body of tar, determined to consume her. Elysia began to panic. Dragons were never meant to be in cages. They were never meant to be swallowed like this.

She wanted to get out. She wanted to be free. She wanted to see the sky, to see the clouds caressing the highest peaks, to see the moon bring forth a realm of silver light, to see the stars wink upon her, to feel the light of the sun touching her scales and bring forth the blue shimmer of its pristine condition.

She needed to breathe; she needed to breathe the free air, and to feel the wind lift up her wings.

Then, as if to answer her prayers, there came a light. It was radiant as the sun yet soft in its caress as a full silver moon.

Then a voice came, like the sounds of the deep wind chimes hung around Rivendell.

"_Hear my voice… Heed my call…. come back to the light."_

The light was drawing closer, and while the dark was painless and comfortable, Elysia could not stand to be in the black prison. So she followed the light and the voice.

Slowly, it returned the sensation of her body; her arms, legs, lungs, head, and the feel of her heart beating in her chest louder than ever. She followed the light even further, pushing away from the abyss.

The light embraced her and set her free, Elysia found herself floating peacefully in warmth before she was taken by a less sinister darkness, the darkness of dreamless slumber.

When she awoke, there were two things that she noticed. Firstly, she was on a very comfortable, plush, and soft bed. The second was that she was famished enough to devour a young Oliphaunt.

Her eyelids fluttered, but when she opened them, there was regret. Elysia cringed and let out a small groan as the light of Rivendell's afternoon day pained her sleep sensitive eyes. Shaking her head briefly, she let out a jaw splitting yawn and sighed, massaging her neck.

Underneath the thick sheets, she appeared to be bare of her old clothes. A cream colored shift draped her body and her breasts had been concealed under a clean set of bandages. Whether they were placed there to help her heal from her wounds or preserve her modesty, or both, she did not know. .

Eyes still bleary, she made a few rapid blinks to clear her haze. Her sight was met with arched windows, opening a marvelous view of the autumn trees. Leaves varying in the colors of flame fell from the great foliage.

It didn't take an elf to know where she was. With the graceful arch of spiraling designs, quality furniture in the pale room, the ethereal elegance of the outdoors, and that distinct elven aroma, this was without a doubt Rivendel. She was in the House of Elrond.

When she stretched, her felt her several areas of her body give off a dull ache of protest. Curious, she examined her upper arm, where pieces of the Morgul blade had imbedded itself in the flesh.

Her arm, once marred with spidery veins with a pallid bluing hue, was looking much more robust. Her skin had returned to its olive splendor, but had some slight discoloring closer to the wound. The greater injuries she suffered had been bandaged; her waist and her torso.

With Elrond's magic and her people's resilient nature, the wounds should heal. She could already feel her strength growing and the dark magic's fading grip on her own spirit. But in all likelihood, they were bound to scar. Such was the fate of healed curse-bearing wounds.

There was something else though, something she couldn't define in clarity but a certain… grimness was scattered inside her, sealed away but there nonetheless.

Elysia shook off the sensation. It was most likely the fatigue.

"How are you feeling?"

The voice broke the dragon back from her contemplation. She whipped her head around to see a pair of bright eyes and a youthful fair face of a male elf with bright gold hair. Flummoxed by his quiet presence and the fact that she had not noticed, Elysia remained mute.

Glorfindel only stared at her, and much to her growing confusion, his gaze seemed to be akin to wonder...?

Was her face marred? Had her horns grown in her sleep? The events of the night she lost consciousness were muddled to her. Brief flickers of words, promises, and pain were all that she could remember, but it was too tedious to think too hard at the moment.

Elysia quickly touched her head. She nearly sighed in relief at feeling only hair. Speaking of her hair, it was out of its braid. Her fingers felt a foreign object in the waves of her hair and pulled out a leaf. A grimace made its way to her lips. She needed a bath among many other things.

"Forgive us for not putting a little more care to your state." Glorfindel spoke again, distracting Elysia from her absentminded thoughts.

She locked eyes with him once more, this time with more scrutiny. The elf was still in that gleaming armor etched with leaf patters on the shoulder plates. Still armed with a curved elvish blade at the hip, his posture was a little stiff.

"How long", her throat felt dry, "was I unconscious?"

Glorfindel almost tilted his head at the sound of her voice. It wasn't as graceful and musical as the females of his race. She could pass off for an elf, or of elven descent. With her cheekbones high, nose daintily pointed, her delicate lips small but full, and her ears pointed, she resembled an elf, albeit rather short, petite, and tinted with an olive hue darker than that of even the most sun loving elf.

However, when one took a closer look, they would see the subtle differences in her countenance, telltale signs that she was not of elven origin. Those eyes were sharper, more slanted, and the ears, although pointed, bore ridges on their rims. Her facial features overall were much more feline, giving her a wilder appearance than the noble elegance of the elves.

"Three days and two nights." He informed. "Twas only last night your fever broke."

"Fever?"

"You were… considerably ill. Should we have lingered a single hour longer from Rivendell, your life would have faded too far for us to recover you."

"Oh…"

Glorfindel tilted his head. "Quite a challenge, it was, to bring you to the House of Healing. Should Gandalf not have arrived in the timely fashion he did with Gwahir as his guide, we would not have been able to bring you as you struggled…. You broke an arm."

Elysia frowned and stared at her arms. Glorfindel pursed his lips, as though he were fighting off a smile..

"Not yours…" He informed with an air of amusement.

The scowl turned into a sheepish frown. Then Elysia suddenly remembered why they were in Rivendell. "Frodo…" She whispered before speaking in haste.

"Where is Frodo? Is the little one-"

"Master Baggin is fine… He is healing as we speak. Lady Arwen managed to bring him to Imaldris in time for Elrond to save him." He assured.

Elysia let out a sigh of relief and raked a hand through her scalp, brushing back stray locks of her dark fair from her face. At the feel of her hair, she scowled again.

"I need a bath."

Glorfindel gave her a gentle nod. "I will send a servant to assist you-"

"That is not necessary." She cut in. Realizing she sounded rather brusque, Elysia retracted. "I mean… If it is possible, I'd prefer being left alone to bathe."

Glorfindel's eyes bored into hers with an indecipherable expression. Then he nodded once again. "Very well. I will have someone provide you more appropriate attire."

With that being said he walked gracefully out of the room. Elysia immediately slid off the bed, tossing the cushion back to the sheets before heading to the private bath. The High Elf seemed to have foreseen this, for the bath was filled with warm water. It was a relief. Although she didn't mind cold or heat, she could use some comfort after a tiring course of events.

/

Stripping herself bare, she entered the water and closed her eyes. The water stung her wounds, but she paid little heed.

Content to float there, she did so with a leisure air before undoing the now soaked bandage wrapped around her torso. The elvish medicine had done its job in purifying the poison, but Morgul wounds were slow to heal. The skin surrounding the injured tissue had yet to fully close.

She sighed and merely sank deeper into the water, allowing her hair to float around her, allowing the water to soak through her scalp and simply wash away her troubled thoughts.

By the time she finished washing her body and hair thoroughly with oils and soaps lined before her near the tub's edge, her keen ears heard someone nearing.

There was a knock at the door before the person slowly entered at Elysia's soft approval. It was Arwen, daughter of Elrond. The dark haired elf maiden carried neatly folded clothes.

Elysia wrapped a large drying cloth over her small form and tried to wring the water from her wet waves.

"My swords... Where are they?" She inquired.

Arwen set the clothes aside on a high shelf. "We placed them in the corner of the room. The blue blade did something very strange."

"Did it harm you?"

"It stung our ranger when he touched the handle." Aragorn had dropped it like a hot fire poker the moment he touched the black leather grip.

Elysia raised a brow and explained. "Faersing has always been volatile. It doesn't stay civil when being handled by unfamiliar hands."

She peered closer at the clothes and fought the urge to sigh at the rich pale blue and white material of the dress. But Arwen sensed her unease. She tilted her head with a small, puzzled frown and walked towards Elysia.

"Is something wrong?" She inquired with a look of concern. "Does the dress not please you?"

"No… No, it's lovely…" Elysia said, but Arwen looked unconvinced.

With another sigh, she explained.

"I am… Ill-suited for dresses… Not very often do I wear them.."

It wasn't that she despised them in any manner, but it always seemed inconvenient, hindering her movement with the long skirts that could snag anywhere if she weren't careful. If she didn't spend so much time going out and about everywhere, perhaps she would have more dresses in her wardrobe but then again… She didn't really feel the need to emphasize her femininity in the Shire.

"Silks and velvets." She mused as she stroked the white sleeve and the pale blue velvet of the torso. "I seldom ever wore something so… opulent." She shrugged and took a furtive glance at the maiden. Arwen was beautiful. Her beauty was famed amongst the elven folk, and Elysia knew why as she gazed at the lady. Be it delicate maroon gowns or riding wear, the she-elf suited all attire she wore and made it the garment of nobles.

Rarely was Elysia cowed by beauty to the point of feeling a little mediocre, but it could not be helped with the elf who's fairness was rumored to rival the magnificence of Lady Galadriel.

Arwen smiled, not sensing Elysia's rather browbeaten turn of thought. "Tis a shame not to indulge such beauty with some opulence."

Her compliment almost made Elysia squirm in embarrassment. She opened her mouth. Then she closed it, unable to find the right words to thank the fairest lady of Rivendell for her flattering words. Perhaps the fair maiden had long forgotten or forgiven the crass treatment she had given her in their last encounter.

Arwen broke the chagrinned silence. "My father wishes to see you once you're ready."

Now that caught her attention. She seldom ever spoke to Lord Elrond in all her years of living and travelling.

"Did he give reason?" She inquired.

Arwen, wishing to ease her growing anxiety, spoke gently and carefully.

"He would like to see your recovery, and to ask a few inquiries but nothing too severe."

"I see… but often what is wanted from curiosity tends to be severe." The response was monotonous, giving nothing away. Arwen only tilted her head, confused but quiet.

Elysia then, realizing she had lost herself in a train of thought in a stranger's presence, pointedly glanced at Arwen and cleared her throat. The elf maiden's eyes widened and she gave the lady a polite nod. Arwen then headed towards the door, but just as she was about to leave, she turned once more. She looked as though she wished to speak but hesitated when Elysia raised a questioning brow.

"Yes?"

"… Many times, you've come to Rivendell, but rarely have I been able to happen upon your presence, if not never. But I've always wondered… I have always wished to know… It was you who rescued my _naneth_…?"

At the mention of Arwen's mother, those pale eyes widened, but it was a brief expression of surprise before the dragon masked her shock with an unreadable expression.

"… I…." Elysia bit her inner cheek, hesitating. "… It was a long time ago."

It had been many years ago, but the memory had been ingrained into Elysia's mind. There had been a period of time when she welcomed the thought of visiting Rivendell. It was a time when the House of Elrond had all of its members; before the loss of Lady Celebrían, lady of Rivendell and wife of Elrond. It was the lady that drew Elysia from the shadows…

_/_

_/_

_She felt lonely and out of place. These people were not her own and vice versa; she was not of their kind. It made them curious and her uncomfortable, all the questions, the attention, and the strange need to dote on her. So she hid. _

_There was garden of flowering trees where she could hide. Her body still painstakingly small, like that of an adolescent child, she sat in the shade just under the tree, behind the bush where she would remain unseen and waited for her master to be finished with whatever business he had with Lord Elrond._

_ She gave a heavy sigh and lied down, not minding the knotted roots of the flowering trees. Soon, Elysia found herself dozing off to the sound of rustling trees and the fragrant scent of spring…_

_ She didn't know how long she slept, but when her mind began to wake before her body, a few things registered to her. _

_Something warm pillowed her head, unlike the roots she had been resting on before, and something soft caressed her forehead and cheek. _

_ When she opened her eyes, she found herself staring at a woman with hair as light as starlight and eyes that reminded her of finely cut aquamarine gemstones. Her head was resting on the she-elf's lap, and the lady's fingers were resting against her forehead._

"_Did I wake you, youngling?" The elf lady asked in her melodious voice._

_ Startled, Elysia was fully awake in a split second. She sprung upright like a catapult, whipping her head to stare at the fair lady. _

"_Ah, I did not mean to startle you." The lady raised her hand to placate the young dragon's shock. "The garden ground did not seem to be a comfortable place to nap, but you were in quite a deep slumber… I did not wish to wake you."_

_ She hastily scrambled to her feet and began to back away from the elf, but in her haste her heel snagged the bump of an exposed root and she found herself tripping. A slight grunt escaped her as her head jarred from the impact. _

"_Oh my." The she-elf did not laugh, but she could not fight the small smile of amusement on her fair lips._

_ Flustered, Elysia rolled to her stomach and shook her head, thoroughly annoyed and still not fully adjusted to this two legged form. It made her clumsy, much to her chagrin. _

_A gentle hand brushed through her hair. She flinched at the unexpected touch, but the elf lady was not discouraged nor did she retrieve her hand. The lady had walked around the tree to see her face and was now plucking petals and twigs that were caught in her hair._

_When Elysia attempted to pull away, she rested a hand on her cheek._

"_Be still my dear. Allow me to tend to your hair and then you can be off on your merry way." The elf was kneeling, and the fine silk of her skirt was dirtied by her posture. _

_Her hand was warm, and her touch was gentle. Elysia gave into her curiosity and looked up. The motherly way in which she focused on preening Elysia's hair and her touch stirred bittersweet nostalgia in the dragon's heart. _

_ When the lady was done, she had cupped Elysia's cheek once more and gave her a warm smile. The dragon could only stare and found herself leaning to the lady's touch._

"_Such beautiful gaze… My sons have grey eyes as well, but yours are much fairer. Darker on the outer rim and quite pale within, as though you have mithril rings in your eyes."_

_She tilted her head and blinked. Those jewel like orbs were staring at her spirit. "And their old… Older than the eyes of many who roam these halls…" Elysia remained silent. Did this lady know of her truth? She was uncannily accurate, and it was unnerving… yet Elysia could not tear herself away from her touch. _

"_Your heart, on the other hand… is still young. Young yet burdened with longing." The lady looked forlorn for her, but she did not know why. It was not her pain to bear._

"_I am Celebrían. What do they call one as unique as you?"_

"…_. Elysia."_

"_Well met, Elysia."_

/

Celebrían painfully reminded Elysia of her own mother in some ways; she was regal, kind and relentlessly loving towards her children. She had filled her craving for a mother's touch, but like all good things, it did not last forever.

Years later when news was spread by the birds that Lady Celebrian was waylaid by orcs, Elysia immediately went on the hunt. But with all her tracking skills and speed, she had arrived too late...

_/_

_Celebrían's clothes were in tatters. Her body was bloodied and bruised from the countless blades, whips, scalding irons, and relentless hands of the savage beasts. The abuse was pushing her towards sanity's end. Why wouldn't they just kill her? Death was more inviting than the black smile of these creatures as they tortured her mind, body, and soul._

_She had lost count of the time, of the tears she's wept. Her hope was all but extinguished. Now she just waited to die._

_ "Bring the elf wench out of her cell!"_

_At the command, the orcs ripped Celebrian out of her iron cage and tossed her onto the dirt. Her ears were filled with guttural laughter while her body burned from the harsh movement. The chains of her shackled wrists jangled against the rocky ground, and she bit back a cry as a fingernail was uprooted by the impact. Her screams would only encourage them to cause more agony. _

_ The orc pack had made camp near a ravine, and after settling, their leader demanded to have some entertainment to stifle their boredom. What better way to keep themselves entertained than the screams of a she-elf?_

_ The orc sneered at the elf, unfazed by her sad beauty. Reaching to his scabbard, he yanked out a serrated blade the size of his forearm and stepped forward. _

_Mustering what dignity was left in her broken body; Celebrian hugged her shoulders and waited, hunched._

_ The orc cackled at the pitiful sight. "Now I've never skinned and gutted an elf wench, but I'm sure it's the same as a horse. We'll be having some elf-meat tonight, boys!"_

_ Terror clenched her heart. Celebrian prepared to scream with all her might, one last time in hopes that she would be heard before her brutal death. _

_ Death came before her scream, but it wasn't unto her. _

_ A howling roar echoed through the twilight, shaking the very earth beneath her knees. There was a clamor of raucous screams and orc curses. Then one of the orcs squealed like a pig in slaughter. Attention was drawn off their captive and towards the commotion._

_ A bright blue explosion blinding Celebrian's vision, the sheer force of its blow shoved her flat on the rocky ground. In her daze, she could only make out blurs. Something was out there, moving in the night, fighting the orc pack._

_ Was it her people? Has her husband finally found her?_

_ But there were no sounds of whizzing arrows or clashing blades. _

_ She heard hissing, snarling, and the sound of flesh being ripped apart. These were not the sounds of her people._

_ They were the sounds of a great monster. _

_Fear began to take hold of her. What new fiend will capture her now?_

_The orc gurgled as her forepaw shattered its chest cavity with a single stomp. Rage fueled her entire being as Elysia began slaughtering every orc in sight. _

_She had been in the sky, searching for the orc pack and for Celebrian, but when her keen eyes spotted the ruined state of the fair she-elf, her vision turned red and she dived._

_In her frenzy, it did not occur to her she was exposing herself to the elf maiden, something her master had constantly warned her to be cautious of. The only thing that mattered, the only thing she sought, was the death of the orcs by her hands._

_Her teeth and claws tore through armor, flesh, and bone, ripping their wretched lives at the seams from their body. From her maws came great blue balls of volatile fire, leaving many unfortunate foes in charred pieces._

_By nightfall, the entire camp was in flames. There wasn't a single orc spared._

_Seeing no foes left alive, her bloodlust began to fade. The dragon then turned her gaze towards the she-elf. _

_When their eyes met, Celebrian flinched and whimpered, resembling a frightened hare._

_Elysia shifted, transforming before her eyes into the familiar figure of a certain girl with the mithril rings in her eyes. _

_But the shining quality of those orbs, once mesmerizing to her, no longer held beauty for the tortured lady. _

_ Celebrian released a shrill scream when Elysia approached her._

_ "Monsters! MONSTERS!" Celebrian cried madly, clutching her hair. _

_ No longer did Celebrian gaze at her with motherly warmth, and Elysia stood still, unable to do anything but stare at the distraught lady. Celebrían's fear hurt more than any festering wound from an orc blade._

_ Eventually, the Lady of Rivendell collapsed in her distress, and Elysia numbly began to tend to her unconscious body. Breaking her shackles and wrapping her in a spare blanket, she lifted the fair lady in her arms and began the long journey out of the ravine on foot, her own wounds from the brief, but chaotic battle forgotten. _

_ That was how Elladan and Elrohir found them. Covered in crusted orc's blood, she walked towards their cavalry when they spotted her in the distance, carrying their beloved mother. It would become a sight none who witnessed ever forgot._

/

/

It was the last time she saw Celebrían. While the Rivendell elves tended to their lady, Elysia had departed wordlessly back into the night. Later on, much to her adding sorrow, she heard news of Celebrian's departure to the Undying Lands. The lady of Rivendell had been unable to cope with the atrocities she experienced.

Elysia looked to Arwen, who at that moment, despite her dark hair, bore striking resemblance to Celebrían.

"…. Rescued…. is not the most apt way to describe it."

Arwen frowned. "But how else is it to be described? My brothers have told me it was because of you, her life was spared. Not by their doing, but by yours and yours alone."

"All but her life was spared. I could not save her from the terrors." She sighed. "I had _added_ to it."

Her ominous reply left Arwen speechless. Elysia took the opportunity to give her an imploring look. She had an appointment with her father and needed privacy to get dressed.

Arwen bowed once more and finally departed, albeit abruptly, leaving Elysia to sigh and get dressed in the garment laid out before her.

The material was soft, and the skirt rippled like water when it fell down her legs. The sleeves went down to the mid of her forearms before draping down like a pair of white wings. The wide neck of the dress exposed her collar, and the pale blue velvet of the dress clung to her torso while its skirt billowed with her strides.

She left her hair free to dry as she strode swiftly through the corridors, attempting to be as invisible to the elven folk as possible, per usual.

She wasn't oblivious to the glances at her way, some curious and some wary. Her footsteps slowed to a halt as she spotted something familiar in the distance: a tall, old, grey man smoking his long pipe, sitting on a bench in a veranda.

"Ebrithil!" Elysia quickened her pace, and the wizard pushed himself up with a small huff.

They embraced, and Gandalf gave a hearty chuckle. "You gave us quite a fright, my dear dragon."

"Bah! Same could be said for you, Mithrandir, and hush… Do not give the elves of Elrond more fright." Elysia chided quietly. Imagine the chaos that would run rampant if the elves discovered a dragon in their precious halls.

"Ah… well, Elysia… I do not think they shall be quite as frightened as you might respect."

She parted the embrace to stare questioningly at her old master. Gandalf only rested his hands upon her shoulder, height towering over her as it always did.

"What do you mean by that, Mithrandir? Do they know?"

"Some may have discovered it… You made quite the spectacle on the river, ah" He saw her growing confusion, "alas you do not remember… No matter… For it is time… Those who do not know should now know."

"But-"

"But nothing, Elysia." Gandalf sighed. "Long have I imprisoned you in a secret that has chained you, but we are rising to the summits of a time where the solidarity of the free races must be indomitable, and there is no room for such secrets when such matters require trust."

Elysia hesitated. Years ago, she would have sung and danced for joy at being given such consent but now…. It was alienating and worrisome. The responsibility of her own people resided on her shoulders. For eons, those untouched by the taint of Sauron had remained in obscurity for a good reason. People feared that of which power far overwhelmed their own; magic unknown, unexplainable, rarely seen.

The wizard seemed to read her very thoughts. To her surprise, he chuckled.

"My, how you've grown so greatly." She sent him a perplexed glance, and he continued. "You fear the repercussions, more specifically; you fear the _reaction_ of those around you. I recall there being a time where you had little heart for the wellbeing of many others."

The dragon scoffed, trying to hide her fluster with little success. "Don't be ridiculous, Gandalf."

"To care is not a bad thing, Elysia."

"I care not if they accept or deny my nature." She argued, her nose held high as she glared at an autumn tree.

He rolled his eyes. "Though you are a skilled little drake, lying is not one of your greatest assets, my dear."

"Come off it, Mithrandir." Elysia bristled before she cast him a quick but careful perusal. Though on the surface, the Istar appeared uninjured, she could see he held himself with a bit more care, relying more on his newly made staff for support.

"So… I am to presume that your visit to Orthanc wasn't all that pleasant?"

Gandalf remained unperturbed to the sudden change in topic, but the mention of Orthanc brought a grimace. "I know not how long he had been siding with the enemy, but my guess is that he has been acquainted with Sauron after our time in Erebor."

"Oathbreaker. If I should see him, I shan't hesitate to set his robes ablaze." She said darkly. "You escaped on Gwahir? I recall it was he that helped you restrain me."

"So you do remember."

"Tis by bits that my recollections of that night return." Elysia confessed, turning grim. "However… I wish not to dwell upon it."

"Yes, I believe you owe, Elladan an apology, but of course, that can be done another time. I believe you and I have an appointment to be met with the Lord of Rivendell."

Elysia did not hide her reluctance, earning her a look of disapproval from Gandalf as he ushered her to walk with him to Elrond's chambers.

"Have you sent word to the Eldest?"

"I've been preoccupied with trying to keep Halflings out of trouble. I cannot send word until I know how the pieces will be laid for my kin."

"The pieces? Comparable to a game, but I suppose that is a most apt way to describe politics." Gandalf replied. "But what do you mean by how?"

Elysia slowed her pace through the corridor, turning sober. Her eyes were elsewhere and she appeared troubled.

"Gandalf… The dragons are at a stalemate. Many are choosing to hide or flee should Middle Earth fall. As darkness grows, they grow less immune and already, some have vanished and we know naught of where."

She gave him a side glance. "Should Elrond summon a council to place verdict upon what is to become of the Ring, the outcome of such decisions shall determine the course of the dragons' part in the Alliance as well. If the verdict is seen as an ill choice, there will be no alliance made."

"So the dragons shall not come to our aid, lest the Ring's fate leans towards their favor…." Gandalf was more thoughtful than irked.

"Above everything else, they wish for its destruction. But should the Ring fall unto the hands of Men, I fear that they will not hear reason." Elysia could not blame them. It was the failure of Men that caused such calamity to rise once more.

"Such irony, I must say. There was a time when you were scorned by your kinsmen because of your involvement with the grounded races of Middle Earth… Now they choose you to mingle with them for their sake." He was amused, if not embittered. There had been a time when Elysia was shunned by her dragon kin for favoring the company of "lesser, fleshly beings".

"As you have said, Mithrandir. Times have changed."

"Hmm… Well, Gwahir also would like to give you his regards and that he shall visit once more in the days to come to see your progress in flight."

Elysia brightened considerably at the new topic. "Progress? If anything, tis I who is the superior flier. There is little that eagle could teach of the sky that I am not already aware of." She remarked in mock haughtiness, ignoring Gandalf's mild glare.

/

/

~O~O~O~O~O~

Lord Elrond of Rivendell gazed at the falling autumn leaves from the window of his study. His eyes were pensive and his mouth was curved into a troubled frown. Despite the burden of his thoughts and the current situation, he kept his regal posture firm and patiently waited for the summoned arrival of two strange riddles he thought he long knew. Glorfindel had enlightened him on what had transpired, how one of his sons came about with a broken arm.

He had always known Elysia was not always what she appeared to be, but it never occurred to him that the severity of the enigma was considerably greater than he and many presumed to be.

When Gandalf had informed him that he had brought a _dragon_ into his halls, Elrond had been sorely tempted to check if the wizard required more healing in the head than he thought. However, when this statement was supported by his sons and by _Glorfindel_… He will admit, he considered throwing out the unconscious apprentice.

There were so many questions unanswered, so many explanations needed, all of which must be told by a certain grey Istar. Wizards were audacious beings, powerful and wise in their own right, but to keep such a secret from the Council? From friends? Fury welled within the elven lord.

Has the pipeweed addled Gandalf's brain? What in the Valar was the wizard thinking in keeping such things?

The sound of opening doors interrupted his train of thought.

"Good morning, Lord Elrond. You must pardon my apprentice and I for our delayed arrival. We were mildly sidetracked upon encountering one another before heading to your study." Gandalf said cheerfully.

Still seething in his anger, Elrond turned and his pensive countenance changed into one of hard reprimand. "What are you playing at, Gandalf the Grey?"

"I guess it hasn't been a good morning." Elysia muttered dryly. She went and leaned against the bookshelves while Gandalf appeared to have the decency to look abashed.

"Allow me to explain-"

"Explain what, exactly?" Lord Elrond snapped. "Where can we even begin to explain such blasphemy? For centuries, I have trusted your supposed 'wisdom', your judgement, and considered you friend."

"And I have always been honored at being considered such, Lord Elrond. I still am." Gandalf refuted calmly.

"Have you?" If it were not for his regal nature, Elrond would have sneered and scoffed. "You have an unbecoming way of showing it. How dare you harbor such secret from the White Council. From me?"

"Twas not only by my own volition for Elysia to remain a confidentiality, my old friend. I was sworn under oath."

"What oath?" Both Elysia and Elrond asked, simultaneously. This was something they have not heard before.

"To your clansmen." Gandalf explained. "Specifically, to your mother."

"My…" Elysia was rendered speechless. Elrond's fury began to fade in his confusion and wonder.

"Twas not only by pure chance that I was the one who discovered you, Elysia. I swore an oath to protect you and keep you under my care, should the time come when Sauron moved to seize control of the dragons."

"Clans.. dragons… There are more than we know?" The elven lord appeared unnerved.

"There were…" Gandalf corrected. "There once were many. Who you see as my apprentice remains the last of her clan. When Elysia was young and malleable, I could not risk having her suffer the prejudice placed upon her kind. Hatred will only beget hatred, and I desired Elysia to be well acquainted with the better things of the world than its hate." His gaze suddenly darkened. "Although… that, at times, has been exceedingly difficult."

Gandalf did not need to make his tone anymore acerbic for Elrond to understand the implicit accusations.

Their gazes did not sway for a long lapse of silence. The anger in the ancient elf began to cool, as empathy began to override his initial anger. He then turned his pinning gaze to Elysia, who gazed back with a defiant calm.

"You… You are of the _Urulóki_?" He inquired.

She tilted her head. "'Fire-drake, a rather generalizing term, I would say. Not all of us breathe fire."

"Do you?"

"If you could call it that, yes."

Elrond sighed, anger draining by the second. "All these years, we've had a dragon in our midst. Mithrandir, why must you seek to bring such trouble?"

"I'm right here, I'll have you know." She deadpanned. "Must I be fully formed to be noticed? Or would you prefer I lay waist to your halls and set fire to your gardens?"

"Elysia!" Gandalf barked. Elysia went silent but appeared unabashed. The istar turned to the elf, who looked torn between being insulted and unamused. "Please do not mind her cheek. It appears centuries of being under my tutelage has still not taught her some civil diplomacy. Dragons could be very stubborn in their ways."

"Or perhaps it was being under such tutelage that caused her to be so." Elrond muttered, turning to the window.

"What was that?"

"Tis nothing, Mithrandir." Elrond said with a graceful wave of his hand. Elysia snorted, having heard him.

"Your remark does bring another question to my mind, amongst many." Elrond glanced at Elysia once again. "You do not resemble the scaled folk."

"Yes well, I doubt I'd be welcomed to Imaldris if I were to dither around its halls as a dragon." Elysia replied dryly.

"Tis a secondary form." Gandalf added in, but not without glaring at his apprentice. "So they may roam the world and integrate themselves within the people."

"She did not take much care when encountering my sons and one of my nobles. You gave one of my sons quite an injury and the other quite some fright."

"Er, yes, they have my remorse… That tends to be the case when one is wounded with a Morgul blade." Elysia did her best to appear sheepish, but neither wizard nor elf appeared convinced.

Elrond shook his head. "Such a riddle, you were when you visited these halls… But we were right… There was something far more special about you than Gandalf divulged." He sighed. "As difficult as it is to imagine, it would explain many things…"

It was imperceptible, but Elysia swallowed hard at the pinning gaze from the Lord elf.

"Nor I or my sons have forgotten your participation in the search for my wife."

Both elf and wizard could feel the chilling unease pour from the dragon in waves. She glared at nothing, hands closing into fists.

"Yes, you and your sons never cease to remind me of your astute memory, Lord Elrond." She tonelessly replied.

They did worse things than remind her.

In their loss and grief, they had blamed her. They had held her responsible for Celebrían's untimely departure to the shores. Elves were hospitable, but they were also cunningly capable of concealing their resentment. Grudges amongst the long lived and immortal folk could last for several lifetimes.

But what aggravated Elysia the most was that she could justify their hidden contempt for her. Perhaps she had broken the last thread of Celebrían's sanity by displaying such savagery before her, or perhaps not. It was a feasible possibility that Celebrían simply became undone by the torture from the orcs, and Elysia only managed to save her from death.

The process was unclear but the outcome was resolute. The House of Elrond lost someone dear to them, and in their grief, they sought to blame all who could be blamed.

Gandalf made no move to reprimand his apprentice for her biting words. He merely huffed and glared at both immortal individuals. Elrond's expression was unreadable.

"Enough!" The wizard barked. "You may carry on this petty tension elsewhere when there are matters less dire…. Lord Elrond. Elysia has not come as my apprentice… She has come as the voice for her kinsmen."

That caught the elf's attention, the weight of Gandalf's words sinking in. "… The dragons… They wish to aid us?" Utter disbelief lingered in his voice. He could not hide his doubts, and they could not blame him, although Elysia did appear to be more bothered by such skepticism. .

"Forgive me for my incredulity. Long have I considered all dragons to be servants of Morgoth."

"Well, the only dragons you and many others have seen were servants of Morgoth." She replied, aloof to the apology. "The Tainted…. There was a war within my kinsmen because of it, and many died. But still, there are those that remain untouched, pure from the twisted malice of Sauron. I am proof of such existence. A representative, if you will." She made a mock gesture of grandeur to herself.

"But there is a reason as to why they have sent you as their sole representative, is there not?" Elrond inquired. "If there are more of your kin, why not they come to parley with us?"

"Because there is folly in man." She crossed her arms, words heavy and cold. "We dragons see man as fickle mortal creatures with good reason… "

Elysia's eyes began to bore holes into Elrond, their gaze knowing. "You know far greater than I, how men can become their own bane and the bane of others, Lord Elrond. It was the choice of the mortal men that made all that we've sacrificed for naught." He had been there, that day with Isildur when the battle in Mordor should have ended the suffering. He saw the failure of man with his own eyes, and thus he could, at the least, understand these sentiments.

"The aid given by my people shall be determined through the verdict of your council. Should we see folly in its judgement, there shall not be aid from the dragons." She continued before Elrond could protest the justice of such thing. "But that is not my sole reason for being here."

"It is not?" Gandalf peered curiously at his apprentice. She had not enlightened him of this.

"We dragons have our own spies, our own ways of watching over the land and its occurrences." Elysia explained, turning her silver gaze to the window. "The birds; ravens, falcons, hawks, owls, songbirds, and eagles… They are all hidden allies of the scaled folk. They are our eyes and ears. We do not need one of our own to oversee such matters in such direct manner."

"But I am here, not solely to see the decision made by the council, but to do what I can in seeing that the Ring is destroyed."

Elrond studied her, face unreadable, for a long few heartbeats. "… That is noble of you, Lady Elysia."

Startled by his unexpected praise, Elyia abruptly turned to him, searching his eyes. He appeared sincere, fatherly even, and those sage eyes always made Elysia feel awfully young in his presence.

Where was the resentment he bore for so long?

She felt flustered, caught off guard. "…. I… I nor my kin wish to see Middle Earth become a Ristvak'baen." Her voice was hushed.

While Elrond did not entirely understand the last of her words, its utter sound sent a strange aching chill through his heart. Gandalf also reacted grimly to his words, though he knew of their meaning.

"What is it? It's meaning?"

"Ristvak'baen…?" Again, the cold heartache unnerved him. Those silvered orbs became hollow.

"It means a Place of Great Sorrow."

/

Elrond had always known the maiden to bear some strange haunt since her youth. When she visited Rivendell, the child had always been so distant, so reluctant despite all the attention and tender care placed upon her small being, to be unwary. Those mithril hued eyes were always sad, always old, ill-suited to be worn by a youngling back then. Many questioned, but no one understood.

Only now he began to comprehend why.

"_Who you see as my apprentice remains the last remnant of her clan."_

"You have more questions." It was a question but a statement. Elysia stayed patiently against the bookshelf.

Seeing the fatigue still present, Elrond remembered. "Forgive me. I seemed to have forgotten to inquire your condition."

The uncertainty in her eyes was brief, but they were there, and it discomforted him. All those years, he and his sons have placed the burden of blame on her undeserving shoulders. Only recently, had his foolishness faded enough for him to realize his wrongs, still the revelation could not undo the past.

Elysia appeared as placated as she could be in such situation. "All is well with me. I am most grateful for your healing, Lord Elrond."

"Then that is all for now. You are free to go and rest, Lady Elysia." Elrond stated, gesturing gracefully towards the door. "When you are well fed and well rested shall we continue inquisitions, but in the meantime, I shall have your old master explain."

Elysia gave a grateful bow and made way to depart, but just as she neared the door she turned.

"What of Frodo, Lord Elrond? What is to be his fate, now with the Ring in Rivendell?"

Elrond appeared troubled. "Yet, I cannot answer that fully. For now, we have done what we could to heal him. He should recover, though I know not of when he should wake."

Though concerned by the news, Elysia could only thank him once more and depart.

/

/

/

~O~O~O~O~O~

Firstly, she had to seek Frodo.

Then she was going to heed the hunger pangs in her stomach.

Once, she was forced to ask for directions to the House of Healing, after receiving the general direction, she used her nose to tell her the rest. She followed the faint scent of hobbit, walking briskly, ignoring the curious gazes of the elves as she passed. Eventually, she stood in front of the door, but she hesitated as her palm rested against the door.

The cowing anxiety welling within her was unfamiliar and unpleasant. There were many foes, many hurdles she faced in her long life, all of which she had confronted with courage; from battling an evil enchantress to combatting the discrimination of her own kind. Dauntless, she was yet she was being stopped by guilt. The door felt like an impenetrable wall when all she needed to do was push.

Her ears caught the wisp of a muffled conversation behind the doors.

"Do you think he needs to eat?"

"He's unconscious, Pip."

"But he hasn't eaten anything for days."

"Because he's unconscious!"

"Quiet, both of you! He's not going to be wakin' up any time soon if you two keep jabbering!" Silence followed.

A small smirk quirked her lip at Sam's chiding. She released a small breath she hadn't realized she held, and pushed the door open.

The first thing her eyes fell upon was the sleeping figure of a familiar little hobbit. He was still pale, but looked more at peace that he did before. It was unpleasant for Elysia to see the Halfling that she had warmed up to in all her years in the Shire, lively with those jovial innocent blue eyes, look so haggard.

But she had little time to spend in her melancholic brooding, for by Frodo's bedside were three curly haired little hobbits. The first that sighted her immediately stood up and ran. His light caramel hair bounced as he leapt and promptly tackled her in an embrace.

Being the dragon she was, Elysia did not fall over and merely stepped a little back as she held the hobbit in her arms, surprised by the forward gesture.

"You're alive!" Pippin cried. "You're alright!"

Elysia could not hold back her small chuckle, and oh how Pippin relished the sound of her voice. He even missed her reprimanding glare and biting discipline.

"Yes, I am alright, Pippin." She laughed. "But I won't be if you keep choking me, dear Took."

Pippin immediately released her; looking sheepish and a little nervous as to if he harmed her. It was endearing.

Merry then ran and hugged her, but he did not leap. "You don't even look sick." He said in awe. It was true. Their Elly appeared much better off than Frodo. She looked radiant even, in the pale sky blue dress with her lustrous raven curls free from its usual braid. Her eyes were filled with more vigor, though sad. After seeing her eyes turned dull in those frightened few hours, Merry prayed there would never come a day when those piercing eyes lost their edge.

Sam stood up from Frodo's side, looking a little sheepish. "We didn't think you'd be up so early, Miss Elly. We would have waited by your side if-"

"Nonsense, Sam. You were looking after Frodo. How is he?" She inquired as she glided to Frodo's bedside.

Sam frowned. "He hasn't woken."

Elysia leaned forward and carefully brushed a dark chestnut curl from Frodo's pallid face. Gentle and soft, she brushed his cheek. "But he is alive…" With those words, she stood straighter, relieved. She could hear the steady beat of his heart, slow but strengthening.

"Elly, you look different." Pippin suddenly blurted. Merry nudged him with a glare before smiling at her.

"He means a good different!" He corrected. The elven dress was quite becoming on her.

"Yes, a better different." Pippin added, earning another glare.

Elysia merely smirked and ruffled Pippin and Merry's curly head. "I'm a little starved." She admitted. It was an understatement, Elysia felt famished. Pippin smiled and tugged her skirt.

"The food is great here! Come on, Elly! We can get something to eat together!"

Pippin tugged her one more time and Elysia relented, but not before focusing her gaze to Sam.

"Sam, would you like to join us?"

Sam bit his lip and smiled, shaking his head. "No thank you, I think I'll stay by Mr. Frodo. See if he'll wake up."

Elysia felt a bittersweet pride rise at Sam's earnest concern for the young master of Bag End. But Sam wouldn't have had to be so worried if she had done something right and protect Frodo.

After seeing the sorrow in her eyes, Merry misunderstood and glared at Sam chidingly.

"For shame, Samwise Gamgee! How can you refuse a lovely lady! Are you really going to woo, Rosie Cotton with that sort of behavior?"

Sam turned pink and shook his head vigorously. "I-I didn't mean to offend you, Miss Elly!-"

"I am not offended, Sam." Elysia snorted before frowning softly. "I am merely sorry… Frodo was under my guard, and I have failed to protect him."

Sam frowned in disbelief at her. "Oh, Miss Elly, you can't think like that. That's ridiculous!"

"Are you kidding?" Pippin added. "You fought those black riders off like a dragon!"

"Pippin!" Merry hissed. Pippin realized his mistake a little too late and the room fell into an awkward silence. The hobbits were waiting, gaging Elysia's reaction.

Elysia froze, taking in their wary gaze. She had to admit, their looks stung.

"Gandalf has told you." It wasn't a question, and she didn't sound angry either.

Merry rubbed his neck. "He hasn't told us anything much. But we were sort of listening in when he was talking to Strider and that glory-something elf fellow." His voice darkened at the mentioning of the elf. His bitterness was shared by the others. Glorfindel's attempt to kill Elysia was still fresh in their mind, albeit the elf had the best of intentions.

"Also, well, you know… the horns." Pippin put his hands above his head, making horns with his fingers. "and the wings and scales sort of popping out… We figured then that you weren't part werewolf or a vampire."

"Part what?" Elysia blinked.

Merry did not refrain this time from cuffing Pippin on the head.

"Ow! What?" Merry rolled his eyes. Pippin also turned to see Sam giving him a glare. Elysia was also giving him a rare look of utter confusion. "Well, if you ask me-"

"No one is, Pip." Merry said, but his snide comment was ignored by Pippin.

"-dragon is much more interesting. I mean… dragon! Imagine that. What would Bilbo have said if he found out?"

Now Elysia chuckled, and little did they know, it was in relief as well as amusement. She had been wary of their reactions to her. In all honesty, she was prepared to be looked at as somewhat of a monster, but hobbits were curious creatures. They never ceased to surprise.

"Well, Peregrin Took, after I found out, I invited her to stay with me in Bag End." Said the voice of a very old hobbit.

They turned, and Elysia smiled at the familiar sight.

Age had changed Bilbo Baggins, as it should with the Ring now out of his possession, no longer holding him to his youth. His wrinkles were more prominent and his hair was now white. He gazed at Elysia, returning her smile a sweet, dimpled grin.

But suddenly, Elysia was reminded of her failure. How Bilbo must have felt when he heard the news of Frodo's injury? She had promised to protect his beloved nephew.

Bilbo noticed her smile falter and merely beckoned her to walk with him. She departed the younger hobbits and followed the old Baggins through an empty hall.

/

Elysia was mindful to keep her pace slow for the old hobbit.

"You and Frodo gave me quite the fright upon your arrival." He said.

"Forgive me, Bilbo… I-"

"I don't blame you for what happened to Frodo… It was not your fault he was pursued by the black riders. If anything, I am at fault for passing such a burden to the boy." His voice was worn and regretful.

"He was under my care… You and Gandalf entrusted me and I failed."

"If you're going so far as to blaming yourself, then go scold and point fingers at Sauron." He snorted. "I do not blame you and nor do I think Gandalf would, least of all, Frodo. Now stop your moping, dragon, and be a little happy to see me alive and well."

"… And old." She commented, a small, sad smile on her features.

Bilbo gave her a lighthearted glare before they burst into chuckles.

"It's a pity…. My old age is getting to me… I was hoping to travel to Mirkwood, Laketown, and see the Lonely Mountain once more… Perhaps even visit our old friend's grave." He sighed forlornly. "But if I'm here, I might as well finish my book."

"That's the spirit, my dear Baggins." Elysia encouraged, but her downcast glances to the old hobbit's aged steps did not go unnoticed.

"Tis the natural course of things, Elysia. Above all else, I am a mortal hobbit. It pains me to say that there will be a day where I and others like me will depart from you and carry on unto death, but do not mourn long when it happens, my dear. I'd rather you _celebrate_. Celebrate and reminisce how I lived." He smirked. "Quite boastful of me, but I should like to declare that I lived quite a legendary life. How many Shire-folk can say they've seen and done some of the things I have?"

He laughed. "I still shudder in excitement when I think about it. I've seen giants battle, a mountain of goblins, rode on eagles and once on a _dragon_. Slain spiders, orcs, wargs, goblins, and a witch-"

"As I recall, it was _I_ who defeated the witch." Elysia cut in.

"I dealt the final blow."

"True…" She chuckled. They smiled, reminiscing of brighter times until a sobering thought came to Elysia's mind.

"I fear Frodo's adventure is going to be quite different from ours, Bilbo."

Bilbo held his hands behind his back. "What a discomforting thought…. But alas, no two journeys are alike, my fair drake… My own journey was only the foretelling of an oncoming storm… Thunderclouds that were gathering at a distance…. Now at the present…"

"We are in it."

"Yes… Yes we are."

* * *

><p>This spacing dilemma is giving me a headache.<p> 


	8. Chapter 8

I don't own LOTR

* * *

><p>

Chapter 8 – Dancing Fates and Singing Blades

_/_

_It is not uncommon for a dragon to sire offspring from different dames. Vice versa is said for the powerful matriarchs of the dragon clans. Compatibility was dependent upon the preference of the female and the competence of the male. The size of their wings, the strength of their flame, the honor in their heart… preferences differed as did the competence. In the end, it was to produce healthy, strong offspring. _

_There was a saying that their kind had little luxury for love as the elves do. At times, the best of decisions could not be based upon the passion of the heart. The dying race bore responsibilities to their clans._

_ But that did not mean that dragons did not love, or more specifically, could not fall in love and remain in that singular love._

_ Ástari, they called them. Their heart's half. _

_ The scholars defined it as a choice of instinctive nature in dragons. Their heart's magic would seek, discover, and deem the one being that was defined most compatible to the dragon in terms of character, breeding, and strength. The more romantic artisans called it fate. _

_ Regardless of what it was, it was an unspoken law in the dragon code, that once the Ástari was acknowledged and a bond has been made, the lovers would be bound to the other in life… and in death. _

_And they would seek solace in the company of no other. They could not. __None would be able to give them the completion they could only find in their heart's half. __Once the bond is made, it can never be undone._

_Alas, no dragon has ever been recorded to try. _

_ It was the reason why many perished in the blood wars. Elves can fade away from fatal wounds and great heartbreak. It was the same for dragons, but dragons do not fade._

_ No…. Dragons who lose their heart's half become mad with grief. They will do nothing but wreak havoc. They channel their anguish towards naught but revenge and devastation until they can no longer bear the pain of living a world where they will never find completion, and only then will they die a suffering death. _

_ It was the tragedy that struck many during the wars. _

_ But then what happens if an Ástari is not acknowledged, and a bond is never forged? Would the chance for an eternal bond pass away with the brevity of a falling star?_

_Or would the fates continue weaving the unbreakable thread?_

/

/

~O~O~O~O~O~

When the opportunity came for food, Elysia snatched the chance faster than a viper would a crippled mouse. She had enough sleep, but she needed food, and when food was given, she ate enough for Pippin to comment that she had the "stomach of a dragon" (earning him another smack from Merry.)

They were having a picnic, having been led by Elysia to a reclusive spot on the outskirts of Rivendell's halls; a flat place with grass near the upper waterfalls of Rivendell. A large weeping willow hovered over the pool made by the falls, under which Elysia had settled herself peacefully. They asked a number of questions, and Elysia did not mind. It was refreshing to explain the ways of her people.

"Flying, what's it like?" Same asked. They had convinced Sam to take a break from staying by Frodo's side, more accurately, he was dragged by a very obstinate dragon to eat with them.

"It's a very free sensation." She gazed at the sky pensively, shaping the clouds with her imagination into various familiar shapes. "The world appears much smaller, but at the same time… You feel as though it grew much bigger. It's quitewonderful. Perhaps if an opportunity exists in the future, I shall show you."

Merry and Pippin followed her gaze up at the sky in wonder, but Sam seemed to look anxious.

"I don't know Miss Elly. We hobbits weren't meant for flying."

Before Elysia could respond, her eyes caught sight something tawny encircling them from above. Sitting upright, she waited as the barn owl made its descent with a trill little cry. It landed on a low branch of the willow tree and peered pointedly at her.

"Merry, that bird is giving us a weird eye." The own turned, pinning the hobbits with its large beady eyed stare. It tilted its head, and the hobbits felt the strange sensation that it was far more intelligent than it appeared.

Elysia, on the other hand, was hardly fazed. She rose to a stand, grabbing a piece of cured meat from their picnic basket.

"You bring word from the Eldest?" While they did not understand the language of birds, dragons always did.

"**Not from the Winged-Scales of White. Message from the Earthen Scales under Fangorn roots. Breeding is happening in the pits under the black tower. Foul things born. Their numbers are many."**

"An army?" Elysia grew alert at this.

"**Of a strange mix." **The owl answered. **"They do not fear the sunlight, are less clumsy, less prone to becoming tired. We cannot go for a closer look. Black birds cloud our vision, bid us away, but they know it is here. Magic in White looks upon the elven place.**

** When their forces are ready, they shall not hesitate to take what is theirs. **

The gravity of the news left Elysia much to consider. She thanked the owl for its message, but before it could depart, she gave it another task, requesting in the ancient tongue.

"**May you send word to the Eldest, the Winged Scales of White, that there is to be a council here as we have predicted. It is to decide the fate of the Ring. I shall oversee and do what I must."**

The owl gave a shrill croon and hopped towards the edge of the branch. It then rotated its head and gazed at Elysia with a cautious expression.

"**Be mindful of the others. We birds of prey are not as fickle as the others… Trust little in what the loud ones say. Their loyalties lie with the Eye." **With the warning, the barn owl took flight.

The hobbits did not know what had transpired. From their eyes, Elysia had been talking to the bird in some odd tongue, with few Westeron phrases at first. The owl had been making strange sounds, screeches, and even clicks with its beak, but whatever it said seemed to have the dragon at unease.

/

/

/

Glorfindel sat patiently, content to listen to Gandalf's answers and Elrond's many inquiries. They were on a terrace, in a private place, sitting against a round marble table that once held the White Council.

Elrond sighed, pouring himself another goblet of wine. "What else have we misconceived in our long years? The dragons, what of their character?"

"They are elusive, proud, powerful, and when offended they can be volatile." Gandalf sipped his own goblet of wine and began to bite small bits off a biscuit. "Those of them that do not remain solitary are often in clans. They are spread across the sea, earth, and sky, many are hidden to us in plain sight.

"Yes, that much we certainly know." Elrond commented, dryly. "What else?"

"Well, plenty of other things." Gandalf stated. "They speak a language of unknown origin. Tis difficult to explain, but the words of the language are unique as the language itself. It is a language of truths and magic. It's not a learned thing, but an inherited one they know since the time they resided in their eggs.

"That sounds… ludicrous." To be born knowing a language? Not even elves, who hold magic in their blood as well, do not have that bizarre quality.

Gandalf explained. "The origins are unknown; perhaps it was founded by the Maia in which they descended from. But a deep and ancient magic runs through that tongue… Lies cannot be told and oaths cannot be broken. It is bound by some mystic law."

"A language that cannot deceive? Spoken by dragons?" Elrond parroted. It was to be expected. The idea of it all was so ironically obtuse.

"Tis true."

It was Glorfindel who spoke, earning him questioning eyes from both questioner and the questioned.

"You know of this as well?" Just how many of his council knew of this?

Gandalf only stared at Glorfindel with new insight. The golden haired elf sighed.

"I have existed once before a time when I wasn't a part of Rivendell." He said. "Before the dark days…" He then began to pull up the sleeve covering his right. Sweeping his left hand on the pale skin's surface, Glorfindel stripped away the ancient glamour.

Silver began to appear, bleeding onto the surface of his backhand in a single glyph not recognized by Elrond.

But Gandalf did.

"You bear the _yawe._" He whispered, looking much older at this knowledge. Glorfindel nodded and presented it to Elrond.

"Tis a symbol of trust."

"He who wears the mark is called friend to all dragons." Gandalf elaborated further. "Alas, it's a lost mark. There had been very few throughout time that have ever bore the mark."

"I was but a mere visitor to a clan of dragons who bore a love for fire." Glorfindel wore a distant smile on his face as he reminisced. "They had been curious in the nature of the elves, and in exchange for my services as a studied subject, I was permitted to venture into their clan. It was a long time ago, a time before the Taint took many into darkness. I was sworn into secrecy by the language. Forgive me Lord Elrond, the terms of my oath disallowed me to reveal anything to you, lest you already know the true nature of the drakes."

"Is it natural for such race, supposedly free, to contain such secrets?" Elrond inquired, mildly irked by the revelation.

"Twas misfortunate timing that has caused them to be so… Perhaps if the dark days had not fallen, the dragons would have ventured and mingled more openly with the people of Middle Earth." Gandalf mused sadly. "But alas, the prejudice… the fear against the drakes discouraged them."

"They could have rectified our misconceptions!"

"If you recall, Ancalagon the Black had set the standard rather high." Gandalf argued wryly.

At the name of the dragon, the two elves felt a cold chill. The legend of the black dragon's might was unrivaled. With wings so massive they would cover the battlefield in darkness, talons so great they could crush mountains, Ancalagon the Black had been Sauron's proudest work.

"By the time Sauron was defeated, the damage done to the dragon kind had given them enough reason to return into hiding." Glorfindel added. His pensive sorrow shifted into an expression of wonder they had previously seen since Glorfindel found Elysia.

"To think… I would encounter another pure dragon in these dark times… Tis truly a Valar's blessing." The wonder twisted into regret. "And to think I could have ended such blessing… Mithrandir, I am truly-"

"Do not dwell on the past, Glorfindel." Gandalf placated. "You have apologized to me enough… If anything, save your last apology for my apprentice."

"You have only tried to do what you sought was right." Elrond said. "Rest assured, you are not the only one who believed her to be possessed by some evil then."

"They are **not** beings of evil." The wizard turned fierce. "They were not born, slaves to the darkness as nothing but greedy, heartless serpents of death!" He whirled to glare at Elrond, daring him to challenge his words. "They can commit great acts of kindness as they can great acts of destruction. Tis in their potential, but they have as much cause to see to Sauron's end as the rest of us… They certainly are _not_ our foe!"

"So why have they not come to help before now?" Elrond asked, not to be cowed by the wizard's bias anger. "If they have as much of a cause, why have we been given nothing but death and destruction upon their hands?"

"The dragons are not fools nor are they cowards, Lord Elrond. They are wise and they know to be cautious. Is it a cowardly act to attempt in preserving their scarce race?" Gandalf's words were not refuted and he continued. "Sauron's reign of terror had crippled their kind. Elysia is proof of that…. She is the only vestige of one of the greatest clan of dragons in existence."

His ferocity diminished, and the wrinkles on his face became more worn. "That vestige… My old apprentice… Her clan has suffered the most... The rest that defied their enslavement were killed."

"Enslavement?" Elrond asked.

"Glaurung's origins are vague, are they not? What we know, or thought we know, was that he was the first dragon to be seen in Middle Earth and was spawned by Morgoth." Gandalf explained. "Glaurung was one of many _victims_, not creations, of the enemy's malice. He was naught but a hatchling, they say, when he was taken from his nest. Corrupted by the poison of Morgoth's darkness, he became a slave to the dark will, a mere empty shell of what he was or could have been. Morgoth's first success was followed by many. Ancalagon the Black was his greatest work…. But his crimes against the dragons were nothing compared to what Sauron had done."

His eyes became glassy and the wrinkles of his face became more prominent. "She saw her people perish that day. You know better than I, the gaze of one who has seen death in a field of battle." Gandalf peered at Elrond. "Tell me, what do you see in that girl's eyes? What had you always seen?"

It didn't take long for Elrond to mull over Gandalf's words. Visits from Elysia only occurred out of necessity, even as a child. She had been as wary then as she was now, an aberrant trait many of his people grievously found cold and unrelenting despite the best efforts made to dote much needed affection on her.

Young in body, but in mind it differed. Her gaze had spoken of something much older and much graver than the eyes of a child. Elrond had seen it in many males, men and elves alike, after their first battle, their first sight of death. Such spectral quality ghosted in the eyes of those who see the ugly truth of dying in battle.

Sympathy welled within Elrond, but he was also a leader, one who had much experience in conflicts. He was an elf that was forced to consider the costs, the gains, all angles of the game board.

"I see what you see, Gandalf. I see the potential, I see the sacrifices… But I also see the risks. Dragons are volatile… You said so yourself. What makes you certain she can withstand the power of the Ring? Because it grieves her?" The sleeves of Elrond's robes flapped as he moved his hand.

"Grief… Anger… Greed… Sorrow… Fear… To the Ring, it matters not. All paths lead down the same dark road from which there is no return."

Elrond searched the Istar's eyes, but he could not decipher the odd glint; was it glee? Or something more?

"Indeed… While it may be of no matter to the Ring, it matters to Elysia… And that makes all the difference."

His vague remark earned him a scowling look.

"That… Does not make any sense, Mithrandir."

Glorfindel said nothing, for he seemed to still be mulling over the heavy information. The grey wizard was unabashed by the noble elf lord of Rivendell and merely huffed.

"I am certain because I believe in Elysia. She has made many mistakes, mistakes that I have been a witness to for immeasurable amounts of time, but the greatest ability of my apprentice… tis not her might, her wit, her conviction, or her fire, but it the duality in her infallible ability to _learn _and remain resolute."

While they mulled over his words, Gandalf stood up. "Now…. Forgive me but I must excuse myself. There is a soon-to-be-alert hobbit that requires my attention." Just as Gandalf took a single step down the stairs, Glorfindel turned to him.

"Mithrandir…. 'Menoa'….What does it mean?" Glorfindel asked.

They could not see the expression on the wizard's face as his back was turned to them, but as soon as Glorfindel asked such question, a stilled sobriety.

"… Mother." Gandalf answered. "Tis the archaic tongue for mother."

/

/

~O~O~O~O~O~

She was hungry again. At times like this, Elysia couldn't help but begrudgingly relate to the fool of a Took. She snuck about the elven grounds and headed towards the kitchens, hoping to be caught by the fewest eyes possible. They had limited her options, disallowing her to hunt in the outskirts of Rivendell as she was still considered a patient from the House of Healing, so she had been forced to request food in much more direct terms. Having exchanged the dress for a loose pair of breeches and a plain blue tunic, her bare feet silently led her through the corridors towards the flight of stairs leading to the lower floors of the kitchens' location.

But just as she turned the corner, she nearly bumped into two tall, dark haired figures she was all too-unfortunately-familiar with.

Elladan and Elrohir peered down at the she-dragon, surprise raising their fine dark brows. Elladan had his arm in a splint that smelled of herbal medicines. The scent and sight sent a pang of guilt down Elysia's gut as she recalled the cause for the injury. The guilt did not show on her stony face, and she quickly made way to pivot on her heel and walk the opposite direction. A meal could be postponed (although her stomach did not think so).

Then it occurred to her that she should apologize, at least before departing. She was not so boorish as to not admit her wrongdoings.

The twin brothers blinked, taken aback by the maiden's brusque movements of turning away, pausing, and then turning once more to face them.

"Forgive me… Lord Elladan, for the injury. It was not my intention to maim you so." Alright, apology was given, now she needed to leave before the conversation became rather… unpleasant.

Elrohir mused. "It has been many winters since you've last bequeathed us with your presence."

Elysia said nothing, becoming rather stiff in expression.

Elladan added, "Although, we must admit, our last meeting had not been a very civil one."

_You seemed to have inherited your father's tendency to remind me of obvious things. _Maybe it was a trait common in the fair folk to say things that could be made apparent with little effort.

Elrohir interrupted her sour musing. "And the recent one had also been rather…. Brusque." He glanced at his brother's injured arm.

"Pardon me, for the lack of pleasant greetings, milords." She deadpanned.

"Nay, it brought a greater understanding between us, Lady Elysia." Elladan stated. "

So they knew. Elysia wondered just how many of the elves were now aware, but before she could concern herself with such matters, her impatience was getting the best of her.

Before she could give them an even harsher retort, they were distracted by a certain ranger turning the corner.

When Aragorn saw the sour expression on Elysia's face, he raised a brow. "Elladan, Elrohir!" He called. Did the company of his foster brothers bother her so greatly?

The twin elves turned. "Estel!" Elladan raised his good hand in greeting.

"What are you doing?"

"Why it is obvious, little brother." Elrohir turned back, "We are reuniting with an old acquaint-" He fell silent at the empty spot where Elysia once stood.

They turned heads back and forth, searching for her when they caught a glimpse of a mass of raven hair vanishing over the rail.

Startled, they quickly strode to the edge, hands on the rails and peered over just as Elysia landed on the lower levels of Rivendell in a crouch. The quiet dragon ignored the startled exclamation of a she-elf nearby and stood up. Brushing herself off in a lax manner, she sauntered off and out of sight without a word.

There was a quiet pause. Then Aragorn walked up to his stunned foster brothers.

"Have I… interrupted something?"

"Tell me, Estel." Elrohir turned to Aragorn. "What were your thoughts on the lady after having the pleasure of her company?"

Aragorn blinked. "The situation was not quite suited for pleasantries…"

"Not even a common greeting?"

"Well…" Aragorn rubbed his neck thoughtfully. "She held a blade to my throat."

The twins gazed at their foster brother in silence.

/

/

Judging from the gossiping nature of curious elves, it was likely that most elves of Rivendell would be aware. It was a worrisome thought, but inevitable. She merely hoped that the elves kept it to themselves, but such was the strange nature of elves. Amongst their own, they kept many secrets secret against outside forces.

Elysia sighed as she sat on the balcony's rail. Her feet dangled over the ledge. Beneath her feet was a plummeting drop to the ravine where the waterfall churned and hissed. A bundle of food rapped in a blanket of linen was hung against the rail beside her. She had snuck into the kitchen, managing to find an assortment of food, and sought an isolated area where her only company would be her thoughts.

She listened to the rushing waters, rustle of leaves, and chirping birds fluttering about Rivendell while crunching on a carrot. Her chewing paused at the presence behind her and sighed. So much for being accompanied only by her thoughts.

"That is a perilous picnic area, milady."

Elysia didn't bother to turn, already having heard and smelled his approach.

"For you, perhaps." She remarked, chewing on her carrot.

Aragorn smirked and walked up to the balcony. He leaned his arms against the ledge and glanced down, assessing the great height before glancing at Elysia. She looked well, much better than the last time he saw her. Color returned to her skin and she ate with a voracious appetite.

Curious, he perused through the bundle of food at her side and frowned.

"Is this a raw potato?"

"They're not inedible if they aren't cooked." She replied.

"And is that meat?... Uncooked?"

"Indeed it is." Elysia confirmed nonchalantly as she bit another bite of her carrot.

"Do you have a preference to raw food? It does not seem appetizing." He inquired curiously.

"Just because I can breathe fire, does not mean I sizzle everything to a crisp before eating it, raggedy ranger." Elysia said.

"Then why not have the food in the dining halls? Where it's cooked." Aragorn pressed.

Elysia sighed and gave the ranger a side glance. "Your wits need more sharpening than your blade. Look around you, Aragorn. Not an elf in sight."

"Would you like to be left alone then?" Aragorn stated, mildly hurt at her implication.

The dragon scoffed. "Oh don't give me those kitten eyes, raggedy ranger. Tis not your presence that I avoid."

Aragorn fought the urge to roll his eyes, more curious than insulted. "Do you have qualms with the elves?"

"Their attention is cumbersome."

"They merely wish to know you. Perhaps if you were not so elusive, they would be less inclined to pour unwanted attention to you." He tilted his head. "But alas, I think there is more. The elven gossips of these halls still say there is unspoken quarrel between you and my father."

"I never thought you'd be one for gossip, raggedy ranger."

"Nay, I prefer to seek the truth closest to its source."

She had to give him credit for his cunning way of being persistent. Elysia sighed, finishing the last of her carrot. She then reached for the slab of meat.

Aragorn, having predicted this, handed the raw food to her before she had to lean too far back.

Elysia took the meat from his hands in silent thanks. Then she paused, and glanced at the meat before asking.

"Did you wash your hands?"

She chuckled at the peeved glare. Aragorn was not amused by her amusement, shaking his head. The two then fell into a long, comfortable silence until Elysia spoke.

"… Lady Celebrían. I was blamed for the departure of the Lady of Rivendell."

This stirred confusion. "Blamed? Why? The orcs were the ones who took the lady captive. You saved her."

"Yes… and I also terrified her." Elysia confessed.

"But that should not give justifiable reason to find fault in you. Lord Elrond knows this. As should you." Aragorn and Elysia turned to the familiar old voice of Gandalf the Gray.

"Elves are immortal, but they are not perfect beings." Mithrandir continued. "When they grieve a loss as painful as his, they are as prone to folly as the best of us."

Elysia remained silent, tearing into the red flesh of the meat.

"Frodo will wake soon…" The old wizard stated.

Elysia stopped chewing, but would not turn to the wizard.

"Care to accompany me to await his awakening?" He asked.

Elysia still said nothing. She seemed to have lost her appetite. "No…. I don't think…." Her voice was soft, and she became more reserved. Aragorn frowned while Gandalf merely sighed with a gaze of empathy. Glancing at the wizard and dragon, Aragorn silently stepped away to leave them be to a private discussion.

As soon as Aragorn departed, Gandalf said.

"Elysia, I do not blame you for what happened."

"You should." Her voice was quiet. "I failed."

"You did no such thing." Gandalf remarked fiercely.

"You weren't there on Weathertop, Mithrandir." She snapped, her eyes flashing as she whipped her head around to glare at the wizard.

"Elysia."

"Save your sympathy for someone who deserves it." She turned away, glaring at the trees. Now every peaceful sight and sound seemed to mock her despair. A dry heartless laugh escaped her.

"They all admire the dragon that flies and fights so well, yet this bloody wyrm can't even protect a Halfling."

"Elysia!" Gandalf snarled. Elysia flinched like she did those many times under his tutelage, being scolded for trouble she made.

"Enough of your wallowing and find your dignity, you miserable serpent. Frodo would not want any of this juvenile behavior!"

"Frodo…" She hissed. "Almost died." Merely speaking the words burned her.

"Tis war, Elysia. Even one such as yourself cannot protect all who bear the burden of being in this war." Gandalf's anger diminished. "If anything, it is I who should be the most remorseful… My confidence in the honor of a fellow istar has led me to ignore your warning."

Elysia remained silent for a long moment before she responded dryly. "I always hated that wizard."

"You've hardly ever met him." Gandalf managed to chuckle. "But that is something I am most grateful for." He shuddered at the thought should Saruman ever discover Elysia's true nature.

"You know, Ebrithil… I could never understand." She turned to him, looking less forlorn. "You have always been the most pure of heart out of the Istar… If anything, you are more deserving of the title of White Wizard than that sour old hag of a wizard."

The old wizard smiled at the dragon, a merry twinkle coming to his eyes.

"Thank you, Elysia." He said sincerely. "Coming from you, it is the greatest compliment I have ever been bestowed."

"Better than my compliment on your eyebrows?" She teased

"My dear, any compliment is better than 'thickness that rivals the hair on hobbit feet'." The Istar grumbled good-naturedly. "Come now, there is a hobbit that requires our attention."

/

/

/

The light hurt his eyes, but it was warm. The dull ache on his chest throbbed, but he was somewhere comfortable and plush. His mind was awake before his body, but slowly he began to feel his muscles obeyed his commands.

Frodo moved his head and grimaced.

"Where am I?" This place wasn't the Shire. The bed felt different, the air smelled different.

"You are in the House of Elrond…" An old voice answered him. "It is ten o'clock in the morning, on October the 24th, if you want to know."

That voice… He knew that voice…

Frodo's eyes fluttered open and they fell on a familiar sight of an old bearded man with a pipe.

"Gandalf." His voice felt frail from its prolonged disuse.

"Yes, I'm here." Gandalf smiled, gray eyes twinkling. "And you're lucky to be here. A few more hours and you would have been beyond our aid. You have some strength in you, my dear hobbit." He praised.

It was truly a remarkable feat. Hobbits, particularly the Baggins of Bag End, never ceased to surprise Gandalf. To have resisted against such a foul wound for that amount of time and live to tell the tale… This hobbit was truly strong.

Frodo winced as he tried to sit up, the wound throbbing in protest. He recalled many things and had many questions.

"What happened Gandalf? Why didn't you meet us?" He asked.

The gray wizard looked apologetic. "Oh, I'm sorry Frodo… I… was delayed." It was an understatement. He looked lost in some disturbed thought. Frodo glanced around the room, looking for any sign of his friends. But it was only Gandalf and a male elf, standing behind the wizard.

_Where were his friends? Were they alright? Did they make it to Rivendell? Where was Elly? What happened to those black riders?_

"Frodo?" A voice snapped the wizard out of his reverie and Frodo from his thoughts. Sam rushed into the room, looking relieved beyond measure.

"Frodo!" Sam grasped Frodo's hand.

"Sam." Frodo smiled, never happier to see his friend.

"Bless you, you're awake!" Sam exclaimed while Gandalf chuckled. "Sam has hardly left your side."

"Everyone is worried about you, weren't they Mr. Gandalf?" Sam was ecstatic to see the Baggins looking very much alive.

"By the skills of Lord Elrond, you're beginning to men." Gandalf turned to the tall dark haired elf.

"Welcome to Rivendell, Frodo Baggins."

Frodo smiled and then looked around and about. The smile began to wane into wonder, and Gandalf knew what troubled the hobbit's mind.

"She has been gravely worried for you, my dear hobbit.".

Sam understood whom they spoke of. "Miss Elly has been very sad… She blames herself for what happened. Please tell her it isn't her fault, you don't blame her do you Mr. Frodo?" Sam wasn't a fool. He didn't miss how Elysia looked pained every time her eyes fell on Frodo's unconscious form or when she stiffened at the mentioning of his condition.

"Blame her for what?" Gandalf smiled at Frodo's genuine confusion. "For me getting hurt? Is that why she isn't here?" Elysia had always been there when Frodo needed her. When he fell into a pond and nearly drowned, she had pulled him out. When he fell sick, she did not leave the Shire and instead read a story or told him something about dragons while warming him with her heat. When he first cried at night because of a nightmare about his parents, she held him close and murmured softly with her soothing voice.

Gandalf said nothing, but his silence was an answer enough. Frodo sighed and frowned.

"What a foolish dragon." He muttered, and froze when he realized in mortification of what he just said.

But Sam looked amazed. "Oh, you knew, Mr. Frodo? How long did you know Miss Elly was a dragon?"

"She told you?" Frodo frowned, startled and confused.

Sam paled while Gandalf became rather somber. "Well, under the circumstances, she had no other choice."

Frodo appeared confused, so Sam elaborated. "Miss Elly had been wounded by one of those foul riders…"

"What?! Is she alright?" Frodo felt his heart grow cold. "Where is she?"

It was as though she sensed his discomfort. The door opened once more, and in came a certain dark haired maiden gazed upon him with warmth and fondness. Relief enthused Frodo to rise from his bed without much fuss and rush to the dragon.

"Elly!"

There was a certain harmony in the way they embraced; how Elysia readily opened her arms and came forward, filling in the distance quickly before Frodo stumble. She knelt down, allowing Frodo to bury himself into her shoulder while she placed a gentle hand in his curly hair.

"Little one…" Elysia closed her eyes and listened to the steady beat of her hobbit's heart. With each strong beat, her peace grew greater.

"I dare say, young master Baggins. You have a heart as stout as a dragon."

"Dearest Elly. I was almost afraid you wouldn't show." Frodo confessed.

Elysia's warm body shook with a gentle chuckle. "Do not let such silly little doubts cross your mind and question your dragon's loyalty."

Frodo looked up at her, those eyes full of life and mirth. It soothed her heart to see it.

"I guess the secret is out?"

She tilted her head, "I suppose." and smirked. "it bothers you?"

"Well… Yes, I'll admit it does, but it's a relief for you, isn't it?" He can't lie to a dragon, especially Elly. The secrecy had a flare of fun and charm to it.

"But does this mean you won't be in the Shire anymore?"

Elysia snorted, putting him at arms distance. "Foolish little hobbit. Do you think you can get rid of this dragon? I shan't stray away from the Shire until I've emptied its lands of all its food."

They giggled at this, but before they could continue their joyous reunion, a gust of wind ruffled their hair, and a large, familiar moth fluttered in through the balcony window, perching itself on Elysia's shoulder.

Gandalf stood from his seat, followed by Lord Elrond who appeared confused by the sudden gale and the flying insect.

"Ahhh, he's here!" If the wizard hadn't sounded so cheery, Elrond would have panicked. Who was here?

Elysia's storm eyes brightened in excitement. Hands still on her hobbit's shoulders, she guided him to the balcony.

"Who's here?" Frodo looked up at his friend as he obediently went to the balcony.

"An old friend." Was her only reply.

Before anyone could ask who, a powerful voice resonated above them.

"Friend? I am your TEACHER!" A large gust of wind would've caused Frodo to stumble back if it weren't for Elysia's steadfast form behind him. When he looked up, his mouth fell open.

The other hobbits quickly followed towards the balcony to see what had their friend so astounded. When they stepped out to the balcony and followed Frodo's gaze, they found themselves staring at a massive eagle perched on one of the clifftops near the balcony. The eagle pinned them with a single, golden eye that was without a doubt as intelligent as it was immensely curious. They flinched when a filmy membrane flickered over the stern gaze as it adjusted its black, needle sharp talons' grip on the rocky perch.

"Hobbits? I see you've made an interesting flock of friends, dragonling." He sounded refined, proud, with the undeniable bearing of someone of great importance not unlike a king, especially with the condescending manner in which he spoke to Elysia.

However, the proud dragon hardly seemed enraged albeit she was irked. "I'm hardly a dragonling anymore, your Featheriness."

"Bah!" The great eagle made an irritated click with his beak. "You haven't grown out of your impudence, I see, Elysia. Such blatant disrespect for the King of Eagles who so graciously taught you the finest art of the sky." he snapped, haughtily.

She rolled her eyes. "You make it so easy to ruffle up your feathers, Gwahir."

"My feathers are not ruffled." Gwahir huffed, briefly preening his brown wings before pinning Elysia with a full glare. The hobbits shrank under his gaze despite not being its target.

"I hope your flying is at least half as decent as your insolent forked tongue." He lowered his head, the challenge in his stance undeniable.

The underlying threat in the great eagle's voice was putting everyone on edge, all except Elysia, and Gandalf who was all too familiar with the crass interactions the dragon and the King of Eagles tended to have. It was a rather strange power display both proud creatures couldn't resist in engaging when they reunited; strange and annoying really.

Elysia only stepped in front of Frodo, a feral grin stretched across her face.

"For your sake, I hope not. It won't take half as that much effort to out-fly you, my feathered friend."

Many stepped back as Gwahir's glare deepened. He opened his beak and let out an earsplitting cry, and for a moment, Frodo feared the eagle was going to peck Elysia's head open. But the eagle spread his wings and ascended towards the sky with a powerful flap of his wings, knocking the hobbits off their feet.

Lord Elrond shielded his face from the eye watering gale before brushing off his robes with a disdainful air, confused by the strange and shrewd interaction between the dragon and the great eagle.

Gandalf however, simply appeared perturbed. Sighing, he muttered something about 'winged-folk' and their 'bloody unbearable need to show off'. He turned to Elrond and asked.

"Is Rivendell still protected from unwanted eyes?"

Lord Elrond frowned, perplexed by the question. He gracefully fingered his ring of power and dipped his head in a simple nod. "For now."

Gandalf appeared tongue in cheek for a brief moment, his mind clearly trying to decide something. Finally, he seemed to have made a decision and barked at Elysia.

"Be done with it! But keep within the borders of Rivendell." He then crossed his arms. "A good hour is all you two are going to get so settle your little games quickly."

Before they could ask what he was talking about, Elysia turned, smirking at Gandalf. Rarely have the hobbits seen such childish glee in the dragon, if ever.

"Of course, Ebrithil." She then pivoted on her feel and strode towards the edge of the balcony with a bounce in her steps. Boldly, she hopped and balanced herself on the balcony rail. Looking over her shoulder, she glanced at the puzzled elf lord of Rivendel.

"Lord Elrond. Please see to it that I'm not shot down by one of your people."

She then leaned forward, took a single step into the empty air, and fell out of sight.

"Elly!" Frodo and his friends rushed to the edge of the rail, but when they leaned over to see what had become of their dragon friend, they were mildly blinded by a burning blue light.

And from bellow, a great flurry of scales, teeth, wings, and claws skyrocketed towards the heavens. The hobbits stumbled back and watched as the dragon ascended higher and higher with each flap of its mighty wings.

/

/

Thrill coursed through her like a current of lightning. With each beat of her wing, she felt a feral sense of exhilaration and fought the urge to let out a howling roar of joy. This was the greatest reward of being a dragon of the sky. No amount of treasure or gems could ever measure up to the wealth in freedom one could feel when flying.

And what better way to enjoy such freedom then to have a little game?

Elysia banked to the left and stopped to hover as she spot the blur of brown circling her through the clouds.

"Name your game, Gwahir!" She roared, unable to fight of the toothy grin on her serpentine features.

Gwahir dove towards her and stopped with a flap of his wings. "Ho! So eager to taste defeat, I see!" All insult was forgotten as Gwahir's laughter was carried around by the wind. "Very well! Flier see as flier do!"

Seldom has Gwahir ever encountered another flier who could give his wings a challenge. His way with the winds added to his title as King of raptors. None could pose a challenge to his mastery in flight… Until he met this dragon.

When Gandalf introduced him to the dragon, who had been a mere hatchling at the time, Gwahir had scorned her. The great eagles bore disdain for dragons with reason. They were proud without reason, rude and violent, at least the few he had the misfortune of encountering. They called themselves kings of skies, seas, and mountains, feeling entitled to such titles due to their scaly might.

But then he met the little blue drake, and after much persuasion by his wizard friend, he had agreed to take the girl under his wing and train her in the one thing Gandalf could not teach her. At first he had been immensely skeptical when Gandalf told him of her clansmen's impressive reputation, but as he begun to train the child, he had begun to understand.

Elysia had taken to the sky with remarkable ease as fish would take to water. Granted, she made a few blunders here and there, not quite having the build the eagles do, but she was a quick learner, growing into a formidable flier under his tutelage.

She did him proud as his protégé, something he will never admit.

_/_

_You've grown from being a bumbling little winged reptile, my scaled friend. _

Gwahir thought, but he dawdled little on reminiscing. The dragon was waiting for him to give her a new challenge, and he wasn't one to keep her waiting.

He fell into a dive, corkscrewing in the air as he made a massive loop. Elysia immediately followed, but she added her own twist, outdoing his aerial display with a hairpin swerve downward.

Gwahir followed with a cry of amusement, folding his wings into his body, not far from her accelerating dive. He thought she was trying to challenge his courage, perhaps seeing if he would risk diving so sharply and so closely to the ground at this velocity, but to his surprise, she began to spin and rotate on her axis in a remarkable display of aerial control, keeping her wings close to her body.

He quickly followed suit, refusing to be bested by the dragon.

They were unaware of the audience gained by their increasingly bold maneuvers.

The elves were stunned by the sudden aerial show they were spectating. Never did Rivendell ever have such an event where a _dragon _and a _giant eagle_ attempt to outdo the other in what appeared to be a game of aerial stunts and mimicry. The hobbits whooped and cheered as they ran to the courtyard to get a better view, followed by a calm wizard and a greatly intrigued Rivendell lord.

Gasps echoed through the audience when the two winged creatures began to perform an acrobatic spin while diving at great speeds towards Rivendell. For a moment they feared they would lose control and crash into the buildings, but not twenty meters from the grounds and they opened their wings, sweeping into a swift glide while weaving through the narrow valley.

A round of applause erupted. Elrond couldn't help but join, which earned a chuckle from the wizard.

"Incredible…" Glorfindel whispered, having followed the crowd to the courtyard, unable to resist marveling at the spectacle.

When sunlight struck the dragon, her scales sparkled blue. Elrond had to admit, never had he seen something quite as beautiful as a dragon of such splendor taking to the heavens. She was smaller than he imagined, her size mirroring that of the eagles but smaller in body and longer in length. His sharp eyes traced the silvered patterns marking her softer underside and the leathery portion of her wings; markings he had seen ripple faintly under her skin when he was healing her. There was a certain youth in her dragon features. Perhaps it was the sapphire radiance of her scales or the pale, healthy hue in the ivory of her horns. Or perhaps it was the way she flew.

She moved with utter freedom, graceful and undoubtedly joyful, without a hint of malice but merely a relentless thrill in a _game. _Elrond found it hard to see the evil he once saw in dragons. Creations of Morgoth held no beauty. They held no joy.

He heard the echo of laughter as the eagle and the dragon began weaving around each other in what appeared to be a mock spar of no real aggression. Could a being that exuded such vibrancy, such freedom, and such _life_ really be an unholy spawn of fire and death?

/

They had been engrossed in trying to break the other's flight control when Elysia felt a probing sensation nearing in the distance. Gwahir sensed it as well, and his laughter died immediately. They ceased their mid-flight games and banked lower, closer to Rivendell.

"Something isn't right." Gwahir's voice became serious as he hovered higher.

Elysia silently agreed. An odd sensation began to grip her scales. It wasn't pain, but it felt discomforting, like snakes writhing in her insides.

Gwahir keen golden eyes scanned the valley, seeing things that even elves or dragons could see. The eyesight of a great eagle was unparalleled.

When the eagle's eyes widened, Elysia immediately swerved into a dive, not needing to be warned. Gwahir followed, and they descended into the valley, towards Rivendell.

When they dived to the nearest balcony, Elysia slowed her descent and shifted, landing on the stony arch of a terrace with two bare feet. Gwahir eased himself gently onto a nearby rooftop, precariously making sure his sharp talons did not puncture the tiled.

When Elysia gazed at him for an explanation, Gwahir clicked his beak.

"The Eye… It is closing its gaze on Rivendell." He stated, glaring at the distance before meeting the dragon's eyes. "It pains me to tell you, but I believe it's best to keep your wings grounded my scaled friend. The Foul one, he might be seeking you."

Elysia shuddered at the thought, shaking her head. "Nay, it is not me. He knows not of my nature" _not yet, _"it is something else."

The eagle blinked. "Ah… So _it_ is here?"

The existence of the Ring in Rivendell was meant to be confidential, but Elysia found no reason to lie to the King of eagles. She gave him a curt nod.

"Hm…" Gwahir mulled over her confirmation. "The foul clouds are spreading further… Imaldris is a nest exposed to the high winds."

"What do you mean?"

Gwahir clicked his beak impatiently, raising his wings. "Think, young drake… You know what vermin is being bred in Isengard… If Sauron knows_ it _is here, what do you think he shall do?"

It didn't need great thinking to know what the eagle implied. "The armies in Isengard…"

Gwahir's head twitched in a manner of agreement. "Imaldris is a mere roost… It is no nest… not a fortress."

Indeed, Rivendell was an outpost, and although its defenses were strong, it would not be able to handle the might of Sauron in his relentless pursuit for the ring.

Seeing Elysia reach his conclusion, Gwahir stood up higher and sighed. "The skies are not holding as much freedom as they used to. Take heed and stay cautious, Elysia. Keep your claws ready and your eyes sharp."

"Must you leave so soon?" Elysia deflated. Rarely did she ever have the occasion of reuniting with friends of flight.

"I must return to my nests and ready my people. You have a similar duty to your kin as well, young drake." Gwahir leaned closer to her, so close that the tip of his beak tapped her head.

"You would've made a fine eagle." The King said after some short thought.

Elysia snorted. "And you a dragon, Gwahir."

"Bah" the eagle chuckled, preening his feathers "I'd take feathers and a beak over scales and teeth any day." With that being said, Gwahir departed with a great flap of his wings.

Elysia watched as the eagle left. His enormous size grew smaller and smaller and soon, he vanished into the horizon, leaving her to ponder over his words and her predicament.

/

/

~O~O~O~O~O~

Elysia sat on the window's ledge, watching over her hobbit friends. Sam was beginning to pack, looking ready to leave, as did Frodo. Speaking of her little one, he appeared to be growing healthier by the day, and it did her proud to see him recover quickly.

But Elysia also released a sigh. Frodo had always dreamed of being off an adventure, to follow Bilbo's footsteps, but when he left the Shire, his journey turned out to be much darker and more perilous than the old hobbit. Elrond and Gandalf were in the room with her, following her gaze to the Halflings.

"That wound will never fully heal, will it?" Her eyes did not waver from Frodo. Although he was regaining his strength, there was something the hobbit still lacked, and it was something Elysia knew with a heavy heart he would probably never gain back. Such was the curse of an evil wound on a mortal hobbit.

"He will bear it for the rest of his life." Gandalf confirmed somberly.

Elrond paced. "Yet to have come so far, bearing the Ring, the hobbit has shown extraordinary resilience to its evil."

Elysia fought back a growl, her eyes flashed and hardened with fire, whipping to Elrond. How dare he sound so… _indifferent _to the suffering of her little one.

"It is a burden he should never have had to bear!" She snapped.

Gandalf laid a hand on the dragon's shoulder to keep her anger at bay. She scowled still, and swung her legs from the edge to face Elrond with her full attention.

"He is not some expendable tool."

Elrond met her gaze with his own stern look. "I never stated he was."

"The implications were clear, Lord Elrond." She snapped, ignoring Gandalf's tightening grip on her shoulder.

Gandalf gave the dragon a reprimanding look before turning to the elf lord. "We cannot ask more of Frodo." He said in agreement to Elysia's response.

Elrond's stern countenance faded into one of frustration. "The enemy is moving. Sauron's forces are massing in the east, and his eye is now _fixed_ upon Rivendell! Saruman has not only turned against us, but you tell me he is breeding some new evil in Isengard?"

"Crossing orcs with goblin men." Elysia added grimly "Creatures that move in sunlight, tireless and strong."

. Elrond paled and looked disgusted. "Precisely why this evil cannot be concealed by the elves! We do not have the strength to fight both Mordor and Isengard!" Elrond despaired. "Gandalf… The Ring cannot stay here."

Elysia said nothing while Gandalf paced in troubled thought. She cast her eyes back towards the land of Rivendell. As suspected, Elrond was summoning a secret council to decide the fate of the Ring. She was to attend, and both Elrond and Gandalf decided it would be best to keep her true identity a secret, for it was imperative that the enemy was unaware of the new addition to the Alliance. The card would be revealed when the time is right.

So Elysia would attend as Gandalf's apprentice and advisor to Elrond. Both she and Elrond did not trust the race of men to hold such secrets, much less accept such variables as profound as dragons roaming amongst them in peace.

/

/

/

Without flight, Elysia was unbearably bored. She was well rested, well fed, and there was little to do in order to exercise her building energy. It was boring.

This will not do. She was not a slumbering dragon of old. Dragons of her age and vigor were lively, and they needed an outlet otherwise they would go mad. She tried focusing on sketching, carving, drawing, something demure, but it only infuriated her feral spirit.

She wanted to break something, uproot a tree, or set something on fire. Anything to relieve her of her boredom in her grounded state.

Unable to stand being pent up in her quarters any longer, Elysia grabbed her swords and began to stalk through the halls. Unsettling attention or no, she was going to do _something_ other than sit and draw or mull like a lazy lizard in the sun.

When she found an empty courtyard, Elysia could nearly smile in relief. Silvindr in hand, she walked towards the shade the autumn branches, settling Faersing down on a nearby bench.

Feet planted on the ground, shoulders distance apart, she held Silvindr pointed skyward and closed her eyes.

Silvindr's edge mirrored the sky as it was drawn and stilled in the air horizontally, its thin edge barely visible as Elysia lined it perfectly straight at eye level. Her hand gently touched the falchoin's flat edge and closed her eyes, breathing deeply in… and then out….

Her eyelids snapped open and faster than the naked human eye could see she slashed the sword through the air. It was eerily soundless, like a silent breeze, a deathly silent breeze.

An autumn leaf fell, but moments before it touched the ground it split into two pieces and landed in separate ways.

Silvindr swept through the air once again and this time, Elysia began to move forward. Her toes were pointed this way and that as she shifted from side to side and spun as her blade whirled around her like a silver twister.

While the sword didn't feel as stimulating in her hand as in comparison to Faersing, Elysia deeply treasured the falchion. It was the sword forged by the Eldest long ago, and it was the highest honor she could ever imagine being bestowed by her great kin. The handle and guard was the color of the pale scales of the Eldest, while the long curved blade was of a more silvered hue that never lost its luster. But Elysia made sure to polish the blade anyway when time could be spared. Silvindr had won her many battles and cut through her enemies with the force of a deadly gale.

She danced with Silvindr in the basic forms she remembered from her time under the teachings of an old, serpentine, wingless dragon. With each breath taken in, her body shifted, and which each exhale, she struck with her blade, cutting and piercing the falling leaves.

As relieving as this excursion was, she felt little halfhearted in her sword dance without her second blade.

"You are as quick as an elf with a blade, Lady Elysia."

Elysia halted Silvindr in mid swipe. Her form's flow disturbed, she turned to see the source of the voice and laid eyes upon Glorfindel.

He had shed his armor this time and was donned in thin leather gear. An elvish blade in hand, he gave a slight bow.

"May I have the honor of joining you?" He requested, gesturing to his sword.

Elysia hesitated, unsure. Her muscles were excited, yearning for a challenge, and it shook her control. Sparring required restraint, and it wouldn't do her well to accidently cut Glorfindel in her feral eagerness to fight. She remembered the countless times Gandalf had scolded her for her destructive tendencies, even to the point where he deemed himself 'too old for a reckless, hot-blooded dragon', finding her a dragon to teach her how to fight in her two legged form.

Glorfindel noticed the uncertainty in her eyes and smiled. "Are you afraid, Lady Elysia?"

His light jibe earned an incredulous snort from the dragon. She gave him a dry look and rotated her sword around her before spreading her feet wider in a slightly crouched stance.

But the elf did not move. He tilted his head and regarded her stance curiously before speaking.

"… You are a dual swordsman."

Elysia blinked, surprised by his accurate guess. The elf's crystalline gaze perused her under a calculating look before smirking.

"I would feel insulted if we sparred with such unnecessary handicap."

The dragon chewed her inner cheek. "Are you so sure it is unnecessary, Lord Glorfindel? Faersing is not to be taken lightly."

The elf's smile was not brittle, but Elysia couldn't help but think Glorfindel was smirking now, or as close as the refined elf would be to smirking.

"As am I, milady. Do not worry yourself for my sake. Tis not the first time I've encountered a dragon's zeal for combat. I did not live thousands of years as a withered excuse for a warrior."

His tone was gentle, but Elysia felt as though she were being chided for her concern. She would've rolled her eyes if it was any other elf, but this was Lord Glorfindel. By his stance alone, the way he held himself, sorely reminded her that this elven warrior had faced Balrogs and eons of battle. She would be stupid to underestimate him.

And he would be stupid if he were underestimating her. She couldn't help but feel a little indignant at his words. She was no dimwitted child or hot-blooded youngster.

Pride and her lust for a good fight easily persuaded Elysia's doubts.

They stared at each other for a moment longer before Elysia promptly turned and walked to her dormant sword. Unsheathing Faersing with a little more force than necessary, she returned to her previous stance with a glint in her silvered eyes. Faersing mirrored his master's gleam, thirsting at the opportunity to duel a worthy opponent.

Glorfindel raised his blade perpendicular to the ground, placing a palm flat against its gleaming side.

The glint of his blade began the spar. In a swish of starry silver light, Silvindr and his sword collided with a high chime of metal striking metal. The blades pushed at each other with immense force, but the play in strength became a stalemate.

The falchion eventually shoved the blade to the side, but Glorfindel was clever as he fluidly stepped to the side and whirled around, dodging the sharp point of the falchion. His blade came down only to be blocked again and so began the rhythmic chime as the two swordsmen danced.

The elf was fast and moved with more fluidity and elegance. But Elysia felt something distinctly lacking as she went blow for blow with Silvindr, Faersing lying dormant in her other hand's grip. Her movements were nimble, but rather than elegance, she moved with ferocity. Her stance was resilient, firm, yet supple.

Glorfindel smoothly moved with a surreal flow, but he was halfhearted with her, basing his moves more on the defensive with the occasional strikes, matching her blow for blow with ease. He appeared calm, nonchalant even, and for a moment, Elysia's temper burned… until it dawned on her, when he glanced at her dormant blue sword.

He was cajoling her, jibing at her. Glorfindel wanted her to use Faersing. He was taunting her to do so.

_So be it…_

Glorfindel's eyes widened minutely as Elysia swung her blue blade forward with a dangerous spark in those greyed orbs. He raised his sword to block the blatant strike, it was a fairly easy blow to parry, or so he thought.

As blue struck silver, Glorfindel's body jarred at the impact. The sheer force of the blow blew a gust of wind his way, riling up leaves from the earth.

The unexpected caliber of the impact caught him off balance, and the dragon did not hesitate to utilize it to her advantage. Silvindr came, aiming at Glorfindel's open side.

But the elf was not to be bested just yet. Regaining his balance quickly, he used his stumbling movement to pivot, dancing out of the blades way, raising his sword up once more to catch the second blow from Faersing.

This time he was prepared for the impact. He gripped his broadsword tighter and pushed forward.

It was exhilarating. What Elysia lacked in his experience, she compensated with the sheer unpredictability of her movement. He was unfamiliar with her style, her techniques. One moment she seemed to be dancing, the next, she moved with ferocity contradicting her previous approach.

Glorfindel couldn't resist. He wanted to see the degree of her caliber with the sword. The dragons were unique in the way they fought. Each clan had its own way of engaging in combat; but they all held the same destructive tendency, the need to not only kill their foe, but beat them into submission and rip them apart. The tribe of fire drakes he encountered had a love for hand to hand combat. It seemed barbaric to fight fists, feet, and the entirety of their body, but Glorfindel soon was proven that it was beautiful.

So what was the way in which a dragon handled dual, asymmetrical blades?

He began to smile. It was a flat smile, a smile that was meant to patronize and unnerve. Dueling was as mental as it was physical. Skilled warriors knew how to manipulate their opponent's emotions, their anxieties, their courage, their _pride_.

In his case, it was to aggravate, and it was working. Elysia's expression turned stony, and her blows became more erratic, more severe. But his smile was still plastered on his face.

Elysia fought the urge to growl. It would not do her any benefit to be riled up by his insulting countenance. But when those eyes gleamed and the smile twisted to a smirk, she began to understand. Glorfindel was blatantly stoking the fire to see if it could turn any brighter.

_He's going to burn. _

She felt her zeal rise into frenzied thrill. If this elf was allowing her to exhaust her restlessness through their duel, she would be a fool to waste such opportunity.

Glorfindel's smile was mirrored by Elysia's feral grin. If he were any other elf, the savagery of her smile might have unnerved him, but he loved a good challenge.

When he swung forth his sword, Elysia promptly leaned back into a series of distancing flips, leaving a generous gap between her and the elf. But before Glorfindel could wonder what she intended to do, Elysia reversed her grip on Silvindr and crouched.

Boots digging into the dirt, Elysia charged forward like a speeding arrow with Faersing leading her lunge.

Glorfindel was startled by the sudden, vicious speed and the sheer recklessness of her form. The blue blade lanced forth, but Glorfindel did not bother in trying to block such lethal blow. He swiftly stepped to the side, avoiding Elysia's charge entirely.

But then the dragon did something Glorfindel expected the least.

She seemed to have anticipated his evasive maneuver, and her lunge turned into a leap. Using the momentum from her charge, she enhanced her jump and with a midair flip, her feet landing vertically, onto the pillar.

Elysia did not stay there. Her feet bounced her off the pillar and straight towards the elf. With a mighty heave, she snarled and spun with her blades in hand for a powerful midair strike.

"HAH!

Glorfindel barely had time to raise his sword in order to prevent the sudden strike from cutting him into three pieces. Placing a hand on the flat side of his blade, he dug his heels into the earth.

Silvindr and Faersing met his blade's edge with a thunderous clash that echoed through the halls around them. Sparks of blue and white flew at the impact. The smile had faded from his face a long time ago. The elf gritted his teeth, determined to stand his ground.

But the collision sent both the dragon and the elf bouncing back. Elysia dug her feet into the earth, leaving a path of disturbed dirt and leaves as she skidded to a halt. However, her momentum had been fierce. In the process of her stop, Faersing imbedded itself into the thick marble pillar.

Glorfindel was a bit more graceful, proceeding to land on his feet after a few series of flips to steady his balance.

It dawned on him, the manner in which she fought. She did not utilize one sword to defend and the other to strike as he originally anticipated. Her movements had been erratic, and her feet appeared to have little solid stance. No form, no finite technique. Her body and her blades moved in ways that were unconventional, and it was off-putting. She fought like a berserker, reckless, borderline suicidal.

But dueling was as mental as it was physical, and Glorfindel did not miss it; the way her eyes flickered and analyzed him with each reckless move she made.

"_tis not her might, her wit, her conviction, or her fire, but it the duality in her infallible ability to learn and remain resolute." _

She had been studying him. Her form had no form because she adapted to his sword, and all the while, she retained her wild movements while she made adjustments here and there.

While such adaptive, prolonging style was impractical for a battle, it was essential in a duel. What made it more fascinating was that her berserker tendencies could make up for her lack of formal style in a typical battle.

There was little warning as Elysia lunged once more, closing the distance between her and Glorfindel. She left Faersing stuck in the pillar, gripping Silvindr in a reverse hold. The change altered her movement, and for a moment, Glorfindel thought she was once again trying for a direct approach. But she made a sudden sharp turn, feinting right and pivoting left, knocking Glorfindel's sword hand aside with a sharp elbow jab as Silvindr rushed forward.

It was Glorfindel's sharp reflexes and quick mind that managed to aid him at the last second. Years of battle experience never degraded him, but made the ancient elf stronger.

There was a silence of bated breathes.

Elysia glared up at Glorfindel, stance unwavering. She blew at a stray curl tickling her cheek. Silvindr's edge was a centimeter from Glorfindel's pale neck, his pulse beating as the blade hovered dangerously close to his artery. She had passed through Glorfindel's guard and stood low and very close so that her elbow touched his sternum, and her foot placed between the gap of his legs.

They were both breathing heavily, more out of the sudden thrill rather than fatigue as their duel came to an end.

"How swift and silent is your sword, Lady Elysia." Glorfindel suddenly smiled, it was a smile that lit up his features, making him appear younger than he was.

Elysia couldn't help but give him a rare smile. "But the victory is yours." she stated.

For as victorious as she seemed upon first glance, Glorfindel's sword was beneath her, close to her stomach. If it had been a duel to the death, his blade could have bisected her or gutted her stomach.

Glorfindel chuckled. The sound immediately ended the tension as the two began to disentangle themselves to a more passive position. Elysia returned her hold to the common grip and combed the stray locks that escaped her braid from her face with a lazy rake of her hand.

Glorfindel regarded her with a thoughtful expression. "It's fairer to say it was a draw, for you could have beheaded me."

Elysia pondered at this and merely shrugged. "A draw for now then…"

At the implication of another duel, Glorfindel gave her a graceful bow. "I shall hold you to that promise, milady."

His sudden elegant gesture earned him a crooked grin of bemusement from the dragon.

"A dragon shall always keep her word. Thank you, Lord Glorfindel. The duel was refreshing."

"Indeed." Glorfindel agreed. He watched as Elysia brushed herself off and went to retrieve Faersing. The sword was deeply embedded into the marble pillar. After a few strong yanks, Elysia pulled her precious blade free.

Glorfindel then observed his own blade. His fingers skimmed the distinct marks on the flat edge where he parried her ballistic strike. Rather than being irked by the scarring on his sword, Glorfindel marveled at the mark. Elvish blades were not made to be marred easily, no matter how many battles seen.

"It appears I should have paid more heed to your warnings with your sword. Faersing, was it?"

Elysia leaned over, spotting the mark on Glorfindel's blade. She cringed and gave an apologetic glance, wiping down her blades.

"Yes, forgive me… Faersing can be rather volatile, and I'm afraid I wasn't able to restrain myself." She had been overzealous in the duel, eager at the blatant challenge Glorfindel provided.

"Nay, do not be, lady Elysia." Glorfindel spoke with sincerity. "It shall help me remember my duel with a marvelous swordswoman. On the other hand… I do not believe _restraint _is your style."

Elysia snorted at Glorfindel's teasing, sheathing her blades, polishing their handles and pommel. She did not seem as reluctant in his presence as before, which pleased the elf.

"Faersing is volatile?" Glorfindel couldn't resist inquiring. "You speak as though it…"

"Has a mind of its own?" She glanced from her polishing. "Yes. I'd like to think it does have some sentience, considering it doesn't appreciate any other wielder than I."

The lord elf sheathed his blade and placed a delicate finger beneath his chin in an image of great intellectual thought.

"Intriguing. A sentient blade."

"We believe that weapons are extensions of our being. They are as much a part of us as any tooth, claw, or scale." Elysia elaborated. "As a matter of fact, my scale did go into Faersing's forging."

"That explains the blue splendor of its edge." Glorfindel pondered over her explaination. "A part of you resides with the blade?" He mused. "It sounds not unlike the Ring of Power. Sauron poured a part of his evil into the Ring, and so it became an extension of his dark will." His eyes grew hard at the thought.

Elysia scowled at this, her pleasant mood fading. "As similar as it may seem, that is a morbid comparison Lord Glorfindel." She deadpanned.

The thought of comparing a beautiful sword like Faersing to something as wretched and accursed as the Ring, however powerful the finger trinket was or however nice the polished gold gleamed, was nauseatingly repulsive. It was an insult to the sword and to its master. Faersing may be destructive, but it bore no ill will and malcontent and did not deceive with poisoned whispers. It was the bane of its enemy, and the enemy was the Forsworn and his servants.

Glorfindel's hardened eyes softened. He gave a placating gesture. "I meant no offense, lady dragon. It is impudent to compare you to something so abominable."

Elysia accepted his apology with silence, proceeding to examine the leathered handle of Faersing. Glorfindel held his hands behind his back and mused further

"Your way of fighting is very distinctive, Lady Elysia."

Elysia nodded. "Dually wielding blades of such different structure is rather strange, is it not?" She confessed.

Glorfindel blinked. "That was not what I was referring to, but I must confess, it is rather peculiar."

Upon earning a questioning look from those silver eyes, Glorfindel explained.

"You fight like a feral creature…" Elysia appeared unabashed by his blatancy. "But… your mind… you are solving a puzzle."

"You sound like my old teacher." Elysia huffed. "He always insulted my fighting to be a barbaric display of adolescent rage, but I never saw the point in finding a finite style to fight. Battles are not finite. Each foe is different in the way they move, think, fight… Why should I restrain myself with a single way of wielding a blade?"

"Your teacher? Mithrandir taught you the way of the blades?"

"Great skies, no." While she did learn many tricks from the wizard, his manner of dueling was not befitting to one like her. "There was an old, wingless dragon in the eastern regions who was famed amongst our people to be one of the finest swordsdragons ever to exist."

"You must have been quite the student."

"Actually…. He failed me and disowned my apprenticeship after three moons." Elysia admitted, grimacing at the memory. "But at that point, I learned enough from him… he was rather unpleasant in company anyway." She sniffed.

_Grumpy old snake. _

"Hmmm." Glorfindel seemed amused. "Regardless, I do not think you to be entirely void of a technique… rather… this is your technique. As I said, it's intriguing."

Elysia coughed, feeling self-conscious at the fascination evident in his eyes, curling a hair behind her ear as though she were preening her wings.

She then rotated Silvindr lazily in her hand. "A dragon cannot be fooled easily, even the most foolhardy ones. I can see past the feinting of my opponents. But this dual wielding has only been with me for a few decades." She confessed. "I had not fought with Faersing nor Silvindr for a long enough time to truly master both to their finest limits."

"Are blades your best arsenal?"

Elysia made a face. "I find blades, be it dagger or sword, to be best suited to my taste. It's much cleaner than bludgeoning your foe, and I've never had the patience to learn to shoot those accursed stick propelling pieces of string and wood."

It took a moment for Glorfindel to realize she had been speaking of bows and arrows. Chuckling at this, he gave an elegant shrug of his own.

"I suppose that is the Valar's way of balancing your talents, milady."

"You call that a talent?" She glanced at Glorfindel with mild, almost reluctant, admiration. "You elves are naturally graced fighters, but you are on another capacity, milord. You were showing me great restraint; it was humbling to say the least… As expected from the Balgrog-slayer."

Glorfindel dipped his head gracefully in thanks of her praise. "I'm flattered, milady."

"But alas… I shall always be the better _flier_." She boasted with no real bite, earning a mild laugh from the elf.

They departed, but not before sharing more of what the other knew. Elysia was fascinated by the revelation of Glorfindel bearing the _yawe_, while Glorfindel took this chance to do what many elves of Rivendell have been dying to do and have some of his many questions answered. Elysia did not mind this time. If anyone should have the privilege of learning more of her kin, it was one who bore the title of trust amongst dragons.

"I've encountered the fire drakes. Although, I must admit," She said at the mention of Glorfindel's experience with the fire clan. "I earned a few of their clansmen's animosity in my involvement with Smaug's bane."

"What of your clan?"

"My clan?" Glorfindel regretted his eager question at the brief flicker of sorrow in Elysia's gaze.

"My clan…." She continued. "We were the greatest fliers. The elders told us tales of our first ancestor. A dragon struck by lightning, only to be blessed with its striking might. All descendants of him bear the mark of _Arkeykva._ The mark of silver lightning…" She rolled up her sleeve, revealing the faint silver patterns of feathered crescents vined underneath her olive skin.

"It makes our flames burn and burst. Our foes used to think we were the embodiment of lighting, and so, we became known as the storm drakes."

/

/

When Glorfindel reluctantly departed, Elysia couldn't help but feel morose. Glorfindel was pleasant company, and he knew of her kind without prejudice. It was refreshing not only to duel him but to simply interact with him.

Feeling content by her newfound friend, she smiled and inhaled the pleasant aroma as the breeze caressed her face, careful to ignore the curious gazes around her as she basked in the courtyard's quiet autumn scent.

Releasing a long sigh, she reached for her braid and gently tugged the ribbon loose. Her black curls began to unfurl, combed by the wind while her pale green tunic ruffled and rippled against her slender form.

It had been a long time since she felt this much peace, in Rivendell of all places. She had always believed only the Shire and the sky to hold such tranquility for her…. Perhaps there was indeed some hope for her and this place, despite the elven people.

Elysia admitted her hypocrisy with the elves, having used the unpleasant encounters with a few to define her sentiments for the entire immortal race. It had been unfair of her to allow her heart's selfish spirit such biased actions….

_All that is in the past should remain in the past… I should look towards the present… and the future. _

The past was there to be learned from. She had come to this realization after her suffering in dwelling on what happened; the regrets, the unmet possibilities, and the misery of broken hopes.

It would never be forgotten, but nor would she ever let it consume her. It was the nature of scars, to remain in remembrance, in phantom moments of pain, but they will never stir to cause true pain.

No… she won't let it. She won't let herself be prone to such weakness. Not again.

_/_

_"It hurts… It hurts so much… Why? Why does it hurt? Why did I do this?" Nails dug into her chest as she bit her lip enough to draw blood. "Why… When I knew it was folly? Why did my heart disobey me?" She refused to let the tears fall. No… She had more dignity than that. She was a dragon. _

_But in doing so, the despair within her began to claw her insides raw and red._

_ "Oh mellonnin… " The hand of a warrior rested on her shoulder with the gentleness of a warm hearth. "Because it was real."_

_ Her hands clenched into fist. She trembled, a figure of anguish and rage. "Then… Then I won't have it… I do not want it… Let this reality remain as a lost dream…."_

_ She had been a fool._

_ "Mellonnin-"_

_ "Let it become a figment of my imagination… Let it become a lie."_

_Though it would not rectify and undo what had been done, what had been chosen, perhaps it would give her reprieve._

_ She would do anything to take away this agony. _

_"… The heart shall give against the will of the mind, no matter how resolute it may seem... Do not declare something as beautiful as this truth become such falsehood."_

_ "That is precisely why it was and will always be folly..." Venom laced her voice. Her eyes were dry and unrelenting. "It was too beautiful to become a possibility…. It was nothing but a beautiful lie… My heart may have betrayed me, but I know the road that I must take…" _

_With each beat of her traitorous core, she began to harden with resolve. _

"_In the end, it is not my purpose to exist in some perfected realm of **possibilities**… It is my duty to walk in truth, no matter how barren it will be." _

_Be it desolate, be it lonely, or be it nothing but a shattered plain of sorrows, she would rather walk this dreary road than tread the broken fragments contained in her soul. _

_ Her friend thought otherwise. But Elysia did not waver under the green fire of her companion's gaze. _

_"That is a coward's way, Elysia."_

_ "Call me a coward if you will… I'd rather be a coward than a fool. Fools will perish in the naivety of their ideals and false hopes."_

_ She had to keep her promise to live…  
>So let this moment, this suffering become nothing but a mere memory.<em>

/

And it _was_ a memory, a distant one that she tried her best to not recall, but even to this day, there lingered a discomforting twist in her heart.

Cut off a warrior's limb and they will be in agony. Even if it heals, they would never feel the same again without that part of their body. But eventually, through will and through time, they can grow accustomed to living a life without that limb, unbothered by the blatant lack… Until their own being betrays them; inflicting a phantom pain that screams out for the lost part of themselves, weeping at its absence, denying the loss of its limb.

_But that was a long time ago… Much has changed since then…_

It was strange and ironic to have lived for so long and still feel so young. In those decades, since her time meeting her hobbit friends, since her time returning to Gandalf to assist in his meddling ways, in that short span of time she had changed so greatly.

Things were different now, and she felt encouraged by those differences… She had long adjusted herself to the vacancy within her being. In fact, she had replaced it. The Shire had done more things than bless her with compassion. It healed her.

Elysia smiled softly to herself, it was a small, fragile smile, one that held uncertainty and hope.

/

That was when she sensed him, as how one would spot a green leaf through the burning hue of the autumn foliage. His presence clashed against the season of falling leaves and chilling winds, and it broke her out of her reverie.

Her gaze slowly traveled from the lush grass and scattered leaves, up the spiraling pillars, and landed upon the elevated figure standing at the upper levels of an open balcony.

Stormy silver eyes widened.

Tall as a young tree and enveloped by garbs of soft silver, his fair, aristocratic face gazed down at her as his lissome frame leaned forward. Hands that could easily string a great war bow gently grasped against the rail.

Silken sunlit hair held back by a braid, eyes of bright blue hue that rivaled the gleam of her scales, with a chiseled jaw clenched in astonishment, Legolas Greenleaf, prince of the Woodland Realms of Mirkwood, son of King Thranduil locked her in his drilling gaze, clearly caught unaware at her presence as she was by his.

He stared at her, for that was all he could do in his surprise. The prince had seen her spar, seen her fight, and for a moment thought his elf eyes had deceived him, but there she stood in the open; her ebony curls lifted, its lustrous waves brushed by the hand of the wind.

Those penetrating and painfully familiar silvered, almond eyes that could ensnare the most indifferent of elves, scrutinized him. Surprise was evident for a brief heartbeat, before wariness masked her exotic features into stoic stone.

The sight struck him like lightning. Of all people to be present in Rivendell, she was the one he had least expected.

Her petite frame stood tall, but angled away from him, giving her head and gaze the added flare of defiance he had seen countlessly, once upon a time.

With that look, the unyielding stance, the scars lining the side her face, hair freely flowing, and swords in her grasp, she was a dauntingly enthralling sight.

The tension between them could be sliced by her blade. The winds whispered as the swirled around the two, as if to attempt to ease the intensity and the rigidity of the atmosphere with its touch. But the wind could not severe the combatting gazes that met at an unspoken and unseen standstill.

"Legolas!" It was Legolas who broke the eye-lock. The prince turned to see his old friend come at him with a smile, followed by Elladan and Elrohir.

Aragorn opened his arms to embrace the elf. "_Mae g'ovannen!_" He greeted his friend.

"Estel." Legolas smiled. "It is good to see you."

When they parted the embrace, Legolas turned back to gaze down at the fierce woman.

… Only to find that there was emptiness where she had been. The wind stirred some grass in the vacant place, brushing the stray leaves off the area where she once stood.

Aragorn followed his friend's eyes with a puzzled frown. "What is it?" The prince seemed to be distracted by something or deep in thought. He was gazing at an empty courtyard.

The woodland elf's eyes narrowed. "… T'is nothing." But his eyes lingered on the spot.

"Once there was something." Elladan leaned over the edge. "Lady Elysia is gone again. Such a shame. I was hoping to engage her after that remarkable duel."

The twins had arrived in time to witness the spar between the dragon and the respected elf. Both warriors did not have the heart to meddle in the budding friendship between them, but they had been hoping to speak to Elysia after greeting the Mirkwood prince.

Elrohir sighed. "Alas, brother, I do not think she will make it that simple. The lady has a tendency to depart so unfairly."

"Comparable to an elusive feather caught in the current of the wind." Elladan agreed.

Aragorn glanced at his two foster brothers. "Perhaps she simply enjoys her solitude."

"Or perhaps it is intentional." Elrohir mused with no real severity. "She lures us in, beckoning us with her ambiguous charm, quenching our curiosity with a few droplets, only to leave us dying of parched throats as she vanishes from the ponds and into the clouds."

While Aragorn gave his brothers an incredulous glance, unamused by their poetics, Legolas' eyes did not stray from the vacant spot in the courtyard.

"…. Yes… She does." He whispered.

* * *

><p>Read and review please~<p> 


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9- In the Midst of Bigotry and Hypocrisy

_Stories were often told of how the treacherous, hell-wrought dragons would swoop down castles and seize innocent maidens, knights, nobles, and peasant. They stole them away from their beloved families to devour them. None new why such monsters preferred to hunt such people. They were small, light, not very filling to the stomach. It was soon rumored that dragons merely hunted them for sport rather than to satiate their hunger. It was in a dragon's nature to lust for blood, to kill. _

_But if that was the case... why was only one victim taken? Why not take a handful? _

_It is dangerously ignorant to make such assumptions with adamant belief. _

_There are stories amongst dragons as well. Tales, legends, and myths told from generation to generation. There was one tale in particular known to many, but more accurately, they were cases. Cases of dragons falling in love with other races; be it man, elf, or dwarf. _

_To find one's heart half was a seldom thing amongst the drakes._

_To find heart's half, to select an Astari from a race of no dragon origin, that was even more so... But it is not impossible._

_It was in the nature of a drake to be abrasive in their desires and intentions. Once upon a time when dragons roamed in the people, hidden in plain sight, some became enamored. Their chosen mate would then be whisked away, some with less subtly than others, but all were more than willing to spend their eternal days with their powerful beloveds. _

_Their numbers were scarce, but they were known to all. Not because they their union was one of romantic grandeur. __But because they all ended in tragedy. _

_Love that transcended the boundaries of race were cursed to face adversities, from cultural differences to the unmatched lifespans, but dragons who found their heart's half were unwavering in their loyalty and their sacrifice. They went to great lengths for the happiness of their Astari, even sharing their immortality._

_Such bonds had never been frowned upon... Until darkness fell._

_Their foes were as cunning as they were cruel, never above to using the weakest links and the easiest victims to cut them down. And what better links to target than those who bore the heart of their dragon beloved, but not their might._

_Those who's Astari's were of non-dragon origin were the first to be taken and slain in the shadows, and thus developed the bitter prejudice that non-draconian Astari were naught but burdens, weakening their beloved dragon counterpart. So it was an unspoken rule for dragons who still held pride to never consider outsiders of their blood as potential beloveds, to never fall in love with them. For a heart's bond towards a man, elf, or dwarf would surely be the dragon's bane. _

/

/

/

~O~O~O~O~O~

To say she was surprised by his presence was a complete understatement. She felt many things, a chaotic swirl of unpleasant emotions. It angered her that his sudden appearance riled her to an unsettling degree. She stalked down the halls with a rather darkened air about her, one would be blind to not notice it. The elves that spotted the aggravated dragon wisely stayed well out of her path.

Elysia did not expect Thranduil to send his one and only heir to the Council of Elrond. She assumed it would have been someone close, perhaps—and hopefully-Tauriel, but to send his precious heir? Granted this was an important meeting, but to have his son shed the responsibilities of the woodland realms so easily?

She could not wrap her mind around it, primarily because she did not want to.

Legolas's appearance unnerved her, and that was outrageous. Self-loathing broiled in her mind, wounding her pride. She hated how this sudden discovery affected her so. She resented how it was choking her heart with a dreadful sensation, RIGHT after she had relieved her tension with a brilliant spar against Glorfindel.

This will not do… She refused to tolerate the frightful sensation stirring from her soul.

Elysia wandered aimlessly through the halls, turning the opposite way from any presence her ears or nose caught, but she suddenly stopped in midstride when she caught a familiar scent and sight.

Her head swiveled to the far off bridge, partially hidden in the foliage. There, in the dim but lovely glow was an even lovelier sight.

Elysia was no romantic, but even she could not deny the enchanting beauty of the scene playing out before her. There, standing on the bridge, hidden in the shadows of leaves stood Lady Arwen with no one other than the raggedy ranger.

Aragorn held the fair elf maiden's hands tenderly in his own, tall enough to be bending his head down while the maiden looked up at him with the most loving of expressions. They were whispering to each other, but Elysia was too far to hear under the gurgle of the river, nor did she want to hear. She quickly averted her gaze and continued her walk. It was so tender, so delicate, so romantic that it was not something she felt she could even set eyes on. She respected the two people, and the matter between the dunedain and his love was no business of hers.

But she couldn't help be mildly impressed, for the raggedy ranger had wooed a lovely _elf_ maiden of noble status. Arwen's beauty was something of great gossip in the immortal kingdoms. Many of her kin would certainly respect Aragorn for such achievement.

Then the awe soon took a dark turn when it occurred to her of the inevitable tragedy of such relationship.

Aragorn was a good man, and Elysia had the inkling he would make a fine king, but he was mortal. She new of the great sorrows that the brevity of mortal life can give to those who loved them… Seeing Bilbo become wrinkled with age while she remained unchanged had been a painful blow to her heart, and she loved the hobbit like a brother… And Frodo, her dear little one, she loved like her own child.

So she couldn't imagine the pain it would bring to watch a mortal lover wither before their heart's half… nor did she want to. Sacrifice came with love, no matter what form it was… Although she had no foresight in the outcome of their tragic love, she knew without a doubt it would require a heavy sacrifice.

Eventually, she ceased her aimless wandering after finding herself in a darkened hall. The air seemed dreary and archaic here, odd. Curiosity urged her to seek what made the air so strange, and soon it was satiated by the sight of what appeared to be a marble altar. Fragmented parts of a broken sword lied on the altar's velvet blanket.

The very metal of each shard permeated a powerful scent of magic.

To great warriors, weapons were not only tools, but they were companions. Some held powerful legacies, and through those legacies, they bore a certain spirit such as the one before her.

Narsil, it was the blade of the King, the sword that defeated Sauron and ended the dark times. She was no historian, but neither was she an ignorant fool. All dragons knew of this blade. Respect for the weapon's legacy prevented Elysia from touching it, although she was sorely tempted to. The sword's subtle finesse was something of much admiration even amongst the dragons, even Rhunon wouldn't deny the mastered craftsmanship on Narsil.

This hall was an exhibition of some sorts. Lord Elrond invested as much into the arts as he did into the legacy and lore of Middle Earth. She turned away from the blade and proceeded to peruse the hall's portraits, admiring the paintings. Each stroke and each color was detailed and done with great care.

Perhaps she should experiment with paint, she mused to herself. She never spared herself an opportunity to purchase a decent set of brushes and paints in the Shire and regretted not doing so. Her colorless sketches and carvings did little justice to truly portray the vivid splendor of the places she visited and the pictures she made.

Her admiration ceased altogether when her eyes fell upon a particular painting.

There was a figure, painted with an aura of light around his being from the rims of his shield to the hem of his armored tunic. He was cloaked with glory, drawn in a way that invoked awe and admiration. Before him was a darkened cloud bathed in sinister shades of black, grey, crimson, and amber, the colors of fire and cinder. Before him was a massive black dragon whose sheer wingspan seemed to conceal the sky and a good half of the canvas in darkness. The dragon's depiction was clear. It seemed to embody chaos and death. The hero's sword in the painting had just slashed through the dragon's mighty chest, bringing forth a splash of crimson that did not seem to stain the hero's blade or his noble figure.

It was to be a heroic portrayal, intended to depict victory against impossible odds. But Elysia could not tear her focus from the dragon's slashed torso, and the madness that colored its eyes with a hellish flame. Such stark contrast existed in the painting; of a demonic foe being defeated by a radiant, noble warrior…

It was the depiction of Ancalagon the Black's defeat against the hands of Earendil. The largest, most formidable malcontent dragon ever to exist…

Ancalagon's wrath had been the biggest, blackest stain on the dragonkind.

It numbed her in melancholy to see such cruel depiction, but she had no heart to find her anger. There was no lie in this painting. Ancalagon had been a great terror to Middle Earth, and the havoc he created scarred the land. Everything in this painting, of Ancalagon's evil and Earendil's heroism was true, and that was what grieved her. Where was the lie in this painting? There was none. They had every right to celebrate slaying Ancalagon, but regardless to see it before her in such glorified manner still unsettled her.

Her ear twitched, and for a moment, Elysia remained silent in her brooding thoughts... until finally she spoke.

"I suppose I cannot ask for solitude in these halls…" Her words held no malice, no sorrow… it gave nothing away.

It wasn't hard to figure out how the dragon knew of his presence. She had always been keen on such things.  
>As apathetic as she seemed, Elrond wasn't fooled by her shoulders sinking against the small of her back. He made his way to her side, following the dragon's hollow gaze to the painting.<p>

Unsure of how to feel, he responded."… You have never tried, Lady Elysia…"

She said nothing, but Elrond was a patient elf. He may not be very well acquainted with the dragon, but in their moments together, he realized patience was essential in connecting with her… It was an effort that was long overdue.

"… When I am here…" Her voice was dull when she finally spoke. "In these halls… Every time I visit Imaldris… I cannot help but wonder…. If it's all a mistake."

Elrond glanced at her, arching an elegant brow in silent inquiry. The lady drake closed her eyes. Her thick lashes heavily shadowed her cheeks under the angled light of the dimming afternoon.

She heaved a long sigh and continued drearily. "We dragons… we have sinned against this world so terribly. We strike fear into the hearts of men… We are the monsters children dream and cry of. Can there be any redemption from that? Is there hope? Or is a cause lost in folly? My being here, my people trying to stand for this greater cause… I see this and I cannot help but wonder and doubt… that it is a mistake."

Elrond frowned at her despondent words. "By being here, you are healing the wounds of your forefathers." He argued gently.

"Some wounds degenerate us, maiming us forever. Even if they mend, they will not remain as they once were."

It was strange... This dragon, this lady was a paradox to Elrond. She spoke with a voice of experience, of age, and to some degree wisdom… but simultaneously, Elrond saw the uncertainty of a youth; a youth who had the misfortune of tasting a bitter, cruel world that molded them into seeing a cynical reality.

"It truly is dependent upon you, Lady Elysia… To see it in hope or to fear it as folly…" He did not sweeten his words. It would do nothing. "Do you see your current path as a mistake?" He asked.

She gave a slight scowl. "No… At least I hope not. I have made far too many mistakes."

"Then it shan't be." Elrond stated it as simply as one would say the sun was setting. "You learn from your mistakes, you step forward, you are a being in particular, Elysia, who sees a valley of desolate bones behind you." He gestured towards the painting. "and turns ahead with brows bent with resolve to seek better things."

His strange compliment stunned Elysia to silence. She struggled to maintain her composure and not stare at Elrond as though he grew a second head or a pair of horns. Lapsing into silence once more, they both gazed at the painting with new eyes and slowly changing hearts, each seeing more of the other.

"… It was wrong of me to place my resent on you for my wife's departure."

Now Elysia could not stop herself from whipping him an incredulous look. His apology was so abrupt. Was this dismal air pickling the lord Elf's brain?

She hesitated, unsure of how to respond, but when in doubt, honesty was the best path to take.

"Yes… Yes it was." She admitted, cringing inwardly at her own shrewdness. But the corner of Elrond's lips twitched upward as though he was fighting a smile.

"Yes, and no, it wasn't." Elysia quickly corrected herself. "… It…. I…" She heaved another sigh, berating her own inarticulateness.

"Celebrain had been quite fond of you."

Elysia looked pained. "… Once upon a time yes… But alas I…" She fell silent when the elf turned to her, his gaze seemed to penetrate the barriers of her mind.

"You did what you could, Lady Elysia. Your efforts should never have deserved such scorn." With those words fiercely spoken, Elrond departed, leaving the dragon in mute astonishment.

/

/

/

Elysia swept through the corridor in haste to get to her room. The Council of Elrond was to begin soon, and she needed to prepare herself to become presentable in representative authority and elven in style as much as possible. She was the "advisor to Elrond" after all. Although she was not quite sure what or how she would advise.

She entered her quarters just as a maidservant placed a set of clothes neatly on the bed. The she-elf appeared momentarily startled by the dragon's sudden coming in.

Elysia placed Silvindr neatly against the corner with Faersing while the maidservant bowed.

"Lord Elrond requests you wear this to the Council, my lady."

Elysia peered curiously at the thick, embroidered material of white and royal blue. It reminded her of the robes worn by the nobility dwelling the elven halls. She found small pleasure in discovering the pair of trousers tailored to her fit. Nodding her thanks, she went to the bath where hot water was drawn and ready.

This time, she did not protest to the maidservant's adamant wish to aid her preparation. Perhaps she was going to need the elf's assistance in presenting herself in propriety with the rich garments.

The maiden made quick work with cleaning her hair of any dirt, grime, or sweat while she tended to her own body. Perhaps she was short on time because no sooner did she finish scrubbing when the servant promptly dumped water onto her head before starting her work in anointing floral oils into her hair, disentangling the black locks.

In the silence of splashing water, the maid began humming an elvish tune. The servant seemed to be a rather fussy maiden. She could only watch as the maiden began moving this way and that while she preened Elysia to pristine condition.

When the washing was done and the dragon dried, Elysia silently allowed the she-elf to dress her in the garments, even going as far in her strange fascination to allow the lady to do her hair.

"Tis foolish for this meeting to only be attended by men." The maiden commented out of thin air. "As the only maiden in attendance, you must be seen as one of utmost dignity. That is my duty."

Elysia could only smirk while the lady left no room for her own opinion to be heard as she continued to fuss and preen Elysia. The she-elf was growing more and more comfortable in speaking, not minding the dragon's cooperative silence.

"You have lovely hair, milady." She stated as she brushed the hair one last time with an ivory comb. By the elf maiden's work, Elysia's dark curls elegantly sprung as they were freed from the comb's teeth. "Such curls of wild splendor… A little too wild, but I suppose it would do good in intimidating the men."

Elysia did not know whether she should feel insulted or praised so she remained silent.

/

/

Frodo straightened his jacket one last time before heading out of his quarters, anxious and unsure of what to expect during the Council. Spotting a figure coming towards his peripheral, he turned only to freeze.

His head jerked back in surprise at what appeared to be Elysia. She strides were long and purposeful, the skirt of her attire billowing behind her, rippling like a blue pond. Her dress—if it could be called that—was of rich royal blue tone like the deepest and cleanest waters in the Shire, bordered with white and leafy patterns of silver. The sleeves ended with long white wings that glided with her skirt, decorated with delicate silver patterns akin to the decorations displayed in the architecture of the House of Elrond. Black boots and finely tailored trousers were unveiled by the split in the center of her skirt, allowing her to walk freely without the need to lift up her skirt.

Underneath the outer gown, she wore a prim, high collared tunic to complete the essence of propriety in her garments.

Elly…. No… _Elysia_ looked as though she held as much authority as Lord Elrond or Glorfindel.

It was a sharp, rather daunting reminder to Frodo that outside the Shire, Elly Walkins was more than just… Elly Walkins. He wasn't sure how he should feel by that. Proud? Bittersweet? Sad?

Elysia tilted her gaze towards her hobbit, curious as to why Frodo was staring at her with such shock, his blue eyes wide, unblinking, and oddly troubled.

"Little one?" She stopped in front of him. "Frodo? Are you alright?"

Frodo jerked at the sound of his name and shook his head. "Elly, you look… different."

Elysia raised an elegant brow. "Well it would be a little tactless of me to wear something commonplace to this confidential council… Although…" She scowled, fidgeting with the sleeves and collar. "I must say, it's suffocating. It's little wonder as to why Lord Elrond and his court appear rather stiff when they go about in their elvish ways."

At her dry remark, Frodo laughed. Whether she is dressed in rags or riches, Elly was still Elly in her spirit.

"Yes… You could come as a dragon?" He suggested teasingly.

"And have the men soil themselves? I think not, little one." She mused. "Now care to escort this lady to the meeting, Master Baggins?"

Frodo grinned and held out his elbow, causing Elysia to chuckle for he was a good foot and a half or so shorter. Not minding the absurdity in the image, Elysia managed to reach down and hook her hand on his arm before the two friends headed towards the designated court.

Cheerful as they went, when they arrived, their moods sobered. Frodo resembled a frightful hare, his eyes were flitting this way and that. Taking pity on her hobbit, Elysia nudged him to seat himself next to Gandalf with a gentle hand pushing his small back. She followed to seat herself next to Frodo for greater comfort, ignoring the questioning gazes drilling her form. It was only natural. In their patriarchal pride, the men did not expect a woman to be present in this meeting, She-elf or no, lest she be someone as regal as Galadriel.

She sat beside Frodo, settling him between her and the gray Istar. As the seats gradually began to fill, Frodo appeared to turn more anxious by the second.

Elysia fought the urge to wrap an arm around him, for they were in a council of males and Frodo must not look like some fragile babe, neither must she look like some coddled tender hearted maiden. The men of Gondor were already shifting their gazes from her face, lingering on the curves of her hips and chest to her great disdain. Some even had the audacity to stare with blatant scorn.

Unable to resist challenging their shallow judgement, Elysia straightened her back, crossed her legs, and intertwined her fingers to present the men with a haughty mask of apathy. Her gaze did not waver, nor did it speak of anger or upset… It was an eerily void stare. She went a step further, conjuring a dragon-spell through her gaze. It was a tactic used to unsettle the hearts of foes, to intimidate them and quell their defiant courage.

The men could not decipher the reason, but they felt the need to avert their eyes quickly; some even shuffled in their seat, feeling inexplicably cowed.

She quickly diffused the dragon-spell before Gandalf had a chance to chastise her, shifting her expression into one of boredom and stark indifference. She was determined to withhold roaming her eyes amongst the circle of men, for fear of seeing the one person she had least wanted to see.

There was one who did not avert his gaze, and it was not Aragorn. Bright blue eyes traced every inch of her face, but Elysia refused to rise to the staring challenge. In fact she refused to acknowledge him, and she was utmost determined to not appear discomforted by him as she was. So she opted to staring vacantly at the autumn leaves and the pillars, until something distracted her in the bush.

It did not take her a moment longer to recognize the curly heads hiding behind the vegetation, and Elysia fought the urge to sigh, exasperated. Hobbits were too curious for their own good. She briefly glanced to Gandalf. Spotting the small mirth in his eyes, there was no doubt he recognized the dropping eaves of certain three halflings.

Gimli peered at her curiously. So this was the woman who aided in the quest for Erebor? Balin had spoken highly of her, and said her aid was great in the Battle of the Five Armies as well as bringing forth the desolation of Smaug. While her figure hardly looked the part she played, her eyes told him enough. They were the eyes of a warrior. He didn't restrain the chuckle when her cool glare promptly quelled the indignant men. The woman had fire, impressive.

/

He would gaze upon her face endlessly if that meant those silvered eyes would meet him. But alas it seemed as though she was oblivious to him… or pointedly trying to be. With much reluctance, Legolas casted his eyes away from the sole female in the council, determined not to linger on such thoughts.

Their relationship had been a complex one. She had entered his father's realm bringing with her a fiery chaos so raucous and sudden it became a popular song many of his people sung to this day.

But despite such… _extravagant _entrance, her nature was subtle and striking; a contradiction at its finest and fiercest.

Striking because the words that came from her tongue were undecorated, raw, and often sharp. She had a wit that had even his father's frozen composure thawing at the gall of her audacity; and subtle because she would steal her presence away as quick as she would present it; as Elladan said, she was indeed a feather in the wind, hard to grasp and difficult to keep while it remained afloat.

When she came, she had brought a storm that disrupted the fragile consistency of his immortal life, and of many others in Mirkwood, but when she left so suddenly... She severed something within him. It was something undefined, and something that wasn't of great lament. He could not explain it, but it left him with a yearning, craving more than what his kingdom could give him.

It had undeniably saddened him when she left, for she did not give him a chance to clarify the complexity entangling them together. She simply left... hardly with warning, without time to spare for a parting word. It had been more unfair than rude.

His pondering thoughts broke when Elrond began the meeting.

"Strangers from distant lands, friends of old, you have been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor." Elrond gathered their attention,"Middle Earth stands upon the brink of destruction. None can escape it. You will unite or you will fall."

Men, dwarves, and elves glanced at each other at the foreboding words. The lord elf continued.

"Each of you is bound to this fate, this one doom…" He turned to the hobbit, who looked as somber as any of the old males.

"Bring forth the Ring, Frodo."

The hobbit did, and as he slowly placed the golden band upon the flat surface of stone, whispers and hushed sounds of exclamation spread amongst the males. Elysia remained silent but her gaze hardened and her arms stiffened. There was a distinct, discomforting tug at her being when she saw the gleaming gold.

A man began to rise, lowering his hand from the bronze scruff of his chin. Boromir, a steward of Gondor, stared at the golden treasure with a gaze of awe and undeniable desire.

"In a dream… I saw the eastern sky go dark…" His words were soft and clear, but as he drew closer to the center, towards the Ring, a new voice began to murmur like a boiling froth of poison rising and rising around Elysia's ears. The whispers grew clearer, more distinct, more venomous than before. Promises of freedom, of power, of _restoration_…

It was so tempting right then, to spill the Gondorian's blood. She fought the urge to shatter the bones in the steward's arm, to grind them down to the last finger.

Boromir reached for the ring, but before he could even touch the polished gold, Gandalf rose from his seat.

Elrond glared at the man. "Boromir!" He warned, but Gandalf took it further.

"_**Ash nazg durbatulûk,"**_

The effect was instantaneous. Darkness began to veil the area, tremors began to quiver the very ground. Gandalf's voice rumbled and a guttural whisper in the shadows began to surge.

"_**ash nazg gimbatul,"**_

The elves looked pained, the dwarves held their axes in fright, and the men began to look left and right. The hobbit was confused, chilled by the darkness and Gandalf's voice growling and echoing in the sinister language. Frodo whipped his head to Elysia at the sound of a crack. Elysia was holding onto armrests, rigid and strained. The pressure of her hands was too great for the armrests. Veins began to bulge on her neck as she clenched her jaw and closed her eyes, looking even more agonized than the elves.

Every syllable of the dark tongue stabbed her with a foul, writhing sensation.

He wanted Gandalf to stop whatever he was saying. Couldn't the wizard see what it was doing to Elly?

"_**ash nazg thrakatulûk,"**_

Any dragon would be drawn to it, succumbed to the fine gold splendor, hoard its great power and worth, but it did more to her. It was mangling her spirit, gripping her in its relentless hands and twisting her. She could feel the pain from the Morgul wound all over again. It refreshed her memory of damned things.

_/_

_"Elysia… Cease your tears."_

_ "But our home… Our menoa… Brother-"_

_ "We cannot go back… We must not look back… Elysia… Even when the currents are against you, you must not turn back. You must keep moving forward, no matter how harshly you fall, no matter how broken your spirit is, no matter how lost you are… Weep and mourn if you must, but do not drown yourself in your tears. They will do nothing."_

_/_

The Ring was reopening old wounds. As Gandalf spoke in the foul black tongue, the Ring seemed to raise its sinister voice, and with it, the memories that would shake the spirit of any dragon.

She wanted to clasp her ears and scream or roar, but her insides felt cold, and her muscles were frozen.

"_**agh burzum-ishi krimpatul."**_

The darkness dissipated and light was restored as soon as Gandalf finished his words. But Elysia hardly looked relieved. Elrond glared at the wizard.

"Never before has any voice uttered the words of that tongue here, in Imaldris." His voice was hard with anger.

Gandalf looked a little shaken himself for speaking the foul language, but he remained adamant.

"I do not ask your pardon, Master Elrond, for the Black Speech of Mordor may yet be heard in _every_ corner of the west!" He focused his glare at Boromir. "The Ring is altogether evil!"

He turned but froze at the sight of his old apprentice. The dragon was still, eyes wide and unblinking. Remorse immediately swept over the Istar.

He knew of the detrimental trauma, was forced to witness a part of Elysia die as a child from the abyss of memories of that Place of Sorrow once called her home. But he did not think the Black Speech would have such severe magnitude of effect.

It meant the darkness of Mordor was growing… The Ring was growing stronger and more desperate to return to its master. Soon it would not be safe for Elysia to remain arm's length near the Ring.

Gandalf opened his mouth to speak to Elysia, but another voice rose through the Council.

"It is a gift! A gift to the foes of Mordor… Why not use this Ring?" Boromir began to rise and walk around the Council, unfazed by the wizard's foul speech.

This time the crack and crinkle of splintered would caught Elrond's attention. The master of Rivendell glanced at the source, only to frown at the arms of Elysia's seat beginning to break further under her strength. Anger carved her fair features. She looked ready to incinerate Boromir as he spoke of using the Ring, boasting of Gondor's great sacrifice and might.

Frodo noticed this and placed a hand on Elysia's white knuckles. When his touch caled the lady, there were others of the council who visibly began to look a little relieved. There was something menacing about that woman's aura.

Aragorn's words quelled Elysia to a look of indifference once. He argued against Boromir.

"You cannot wield it! None of us can… The One Ring answers to Sauron alone. It has no other master."

Boromir sneered. "And what would a ranger know of this matter."

Elysia was beginning to like this mortal less and less, adding to her disdain for the race in general. Why did Elrond even invite such petty creatures when he knew how weak they were? At least Aragorn was of Dunedain blood.

The prince of Mirkwood leapt to defend Aragorn's honor before Elysia could think to intervene on behalf of the ranger she grew to know as a friend.

"He is no mere ranger." He glared at Boromir's audacity. "He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn… You owe him your allegiance."

Boromir looked shocked, as did many in the council. He stared at Aragorn with disbelief. "This… Is Isildur's heir?"

"And heir to the throne of Gondor." Legolas pressed.

Aragorn appeared exasperated if not irritated by the publicized knowledge. He gazed at his elven friend, determined to ease the aggravated elf. "Havo dad, Legolas."

But at the revelation that he was in the presence of his people's lost King, Boromir's sneer turned even colder. _This ranger_ was the heir to the throne his family had been caring for generations? Where had he been all this time when the kingdom cried out for their leader's return?And he was a _ranger _out of all else? Had he abandoned his birthright and his people so callously to walk the life of some vagabond warden of the north?

Boromir's heart for his people burned with a deep anger. The people of Gondor did not need such fickle man to become their symbol of hope. Gondor deserved better, it _needed _better.

"Gondor has no king…" Glaring at Aragorn with seething eyes, he sat. "Gondor needs no king."

Elysia snorted softly. Boromir only confirmed her opinion of men.  
>Gandalf ignored the steward's fuming rage . "Aragorn is right. We cannot use it."<p>

There was a collection of sighs and murmurs through the group, disappointment in men, elves agreeing with the Istar, and dwarves grumbling amongst themselves.

"Then we have only one choice." Elysia sighed as she straightened her head, sounding weary and rather annoyed. "The Ring must be destroyed." It was the only option, and the verdict had to be made quickly.

But she wasn't surprised when at the sound of her voice, the males stiffened. It was the first time she spoke out since the Council had begun. Her voice was odd for an apparent she-elf, roughened with a smoky tinge.

Boromir scoffed scornfully at the woman. She had been doing well in keeping silent and only now she chose to speak? How inappropriate.

"And who are you to decide that? In fact, what is a _woman_ doing in a council of men? Nonetheless voicing her opinion so-"

"Cease your prattling, bigoted steward." Elysia cut off impatiently, unwilling to deal with the traditional misogyny. "I have no need to hear of your insufferably ignorant opinion."

Her acerbic remark promptly brought a deep shade of red through the steward's face, but before he could retort to that remark, Gandalf the Gray smacked the butt of his staff to the ground, causing sparks to ignite at the impact.

"Boromir! Hold your tongue of any foul remark against _my_ former apprentice! I will not tolerate such insult to my person!"

At the Istar's challenging gaze, Boromir ceased to argue, but now his seething gaze targeted Elysia. The dragon almost rolled her eyes at the juvenile nature of his behavior. The hubris of mortal men was so easy to wound. If it were any other time, she would've found enjoyment in prodding this volatile male.

"Lady Elysia is right, the Ring can only be destroyed." Elrond stated.

The council hushed in silence, until a dwarf stood up with an air of impatience. "What are we waiting for?" The red bearded dwarf growled, raising his acts and striding to the Ring. Elysia recognized the red beard and those eyes.

A wave of nostalgia washed over her, preventing her from intervening his foolishly rash choice. This dwarf is the son of Gloin.

The dwarf raised his axe and with a roar, smashed down upon the Ring. Upon impact, it shattered a predictable result. While the axe was now in pieces, Elysia was more concerned with the hobbit looking pained at her side.

Then Elrond began to explain the gravity of the situation, for the Ring could only be destroyed by the fires from which it was forged, deep in Mordor in the fiery hells of Mount Doom. Silence swept through the Council upon hearing this. They could do nothing with the Ring but destroy it, for if it survives then darkness will fall, but to destroy it was a near impossible task.

Boromir voiced this, peeling away the dwindling hope of the Free Alliance as he spoke of the level of fortitude in which Mordor is protected. There were legions upon legions of foul creatures behind the great black gates that opened to a land of desolation…. And then there was the Eye…

Elysia glanced to Gandalf and they both sighed. This meeting was looking less hopeful by the second. The races were beginning to voice blatant disdain for one another. One particular elf was more vocal in his irritation with Boromir's poisoning words of pessimism.

"Have you heard nothing of what Lord Elrond just said?" Legolas glared. "The Ring must be destroyed!"

"And I suppose you think you're the one to do it!" Gimli snapped, causing Legolas's blue gaze to morph into a contemptuous glare at the dwarf.

"And if we fail what then?" Boromir cried, rising from his seat. "What happens when Sauron takes back what is his?!"

Gimli stood up, and despite his shorter height, he growled with anger as big as the taller males. "I will be _dead_ before I see the Ring in the hands of an _elf_!" He spat.

_Now _Elysia sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose as the sparks ignited into flame. The males all rose. Shouts, insults, feeble words of calm, hisses, and spats were tossed back and forth in a storm of noise. Even her old master began to rise and join the hapless verbal brawl, discarding his staff to his chair in a fit of frustration or wisdom—for he could be sorely tempted to whack these men with it, and the mere sound of that possibility was undesirable.

"If this is what stands against Sauron…" Elysia muttered as she and Frodo sat while the others hissed and spat. "We are all doomed."

Her people would never concede to an alliance if this was the state of the Free People's cooperation amongst their own. What hope did she have of convincing them to put their trust in these quarrelsome people? And witnessing their petty spat, Elysia hardly felt convinced herself to hope for such things. This situation was turning dimmer and far too complex for her liking.

Frodo stared at the Ring as the alliance began to fight amongst themselves. Its black speech was returning, reverberating in his mind. He swore it sounded smug as he gazed the fighting council in its golden reflection. Upon its reflection, he focused on Elysia who sat, looking pained and almost defeated.

It made his heart clench more, and he could bear it no further.

The hobbit stood up, causing Elysia to jerk in mild surprise. Was Frodo going to join the quarrel? Surely he could see the futility of it all.

But what came out of his mouth nearly shocked the dragon off her chair.

"I will take it!"

The little one never looked as small as he did then in that crowd of men, elves, dwarves, and a wizard. He appeared so cowed, yet strength resounded in him.

Elysia felt a great swell of pride.

"I will take it!" He repeated.

But when he repeated those words, the pride vanished under horror as Elysia realized the magnitude of Frodo's declaration. Quick but gentle, she leaned forward and snatched Frodo's wrist, yanking him to her.

Frodo almost yelped as he was grabbed, yanked back, and promptly whipped around to stare at an oncoming storm. There was no fondness in her eyes, no trace of that gentle affection. She glared at him, unyielding, burning her gaze into his soul.

"Frodo Baggins… Care to repeat that to me?" Her voice was low and dangerous.

The hobbit nearly cowed under the intensity of her gaze. She did not look angry, but there was a foreboding aura pouring from her. However, he mustered the courage and stared at her with equal determination.

"I… I will take it."

Eyes boring into his, the dragon seemed to be peering into the hobbit's soul. She wanted to scold him, to cuff him on his head to silence his blasphemous courage, but upon seeing the resolve, Elysia's will diminished.

She had seen that fire before… That same flare of courage and adamancy within the innocence and doubt of Frodo Baggins mirrored his beloved uncle in the hardest of times. Bilbo had truly surprised her with great acts of courage, with the same resolution she saw in Frodo.

It was a foolhardy declaration, brave but extremely foolhardy… yet… Why did it stir such hope in her? If she had to trust the authority of her kin onto one being uncorrupted by the shadow, it would be this little hobbit.

It pained her though. She could only imagine the burden Frodo would be forced to bear… But it was Frodo's choice, his own will, and she would not cage his will.

The grip on Frodo's arms eased. A look of finality swept over Elysia as she raised herself to stand tall before him.

"Very well…" She did not look at him, but over him, at the crowd of men, elves, dwarves, and a wizard still shouting at each other, quarreling amongst themselves.

"Hand me the staff, little one."

Frodo frowned but obeyed, not questioning or arguing Elysia when she bore that stormy look. He handed her the staff. Elysia glanced down at him.

"Face forward, Frodo Baggins… Face your peers of the Council and do it in courage."

Frodo did. Elysia moved a little to the side, distancing herself from the hobbit. She grasped the wizard staff firmly in both hands, and raised it above her, just as Gandalf turned to see the dragon wielding his tool.

Elysia slammed the end of the staff on the floor, channeling a pulse of her own magic while doing so.

A thunderous blast exploded at the impact of the staff's rear on the stone. It pounded against the ears, shook their bodies, and a gust of wind swept through them like a shockwave.

The entire council fell silent, staring at the staff wielding woman. Her glare was like a storm brewing with a looming threat, demanding their attention.

"Now that you've all held your pitiable quarrels within your flaccid tongues, let Frodo Baggins speak." Her voice was deathly calm, daring anyone to speak out of turn or refute her demand.

All eyes went to Frodo, who swallowed hard, glancing at Elysia nervously before staring at the crowd. Fist clenched, he spoke.

"I will take it… I will take the Ring to Mordor."

They all stared at the adamant hobbit, many puzzled, some incredulous, others simply blank in their surprise.

"Though… I do not know the way." Elysia almost chuckled at Frodo's small self-revelation. To worry about how to get there rather than the peril of getting there, Frodo's priorities were skewed. .

A twinkle returned into Gandalf's eyes. He stepped forward.

"I will help you bear this burden, Frodo Baggins." He placed a hand on the hobbit's shoulder and stood behind him. "For as long as it is yours to bear."

The wizard glanced at Elysia and with a small grumpy pout, snatched his staff. Elysia had the decency to appear a little apologetic at her old master, smirking a bit sheepishly. Exchanging silent words through their eyes, Gandalf simply grunted and stood behind Frodo a little straighter.

Aragorn stood, gazing at the hobbit with great respect.

"If by my life or death, I can protect you I will…" Strider strode up to Frodo and knelt before him. "You have my sword."

Elysia almost smiled at the sudden oath, but what surprised her more was the third voice. Rich and musical, the Prince of Mirkwood also vowed.

"And you have my bow." He walked to stand behind the hobbit.

Her almost smile faded. She wanted nothing more than to send the prince off on his merry way back to his father.

"And my axe!" Gimli, son of Gloin growled, interrupting her spiraling thoughts, much to Elysia's nostalgic fascination and the Woodland Prince's mild disdain.

Until Boromir slowly walked forward, sobering Elysia once more into aggravated dread. She restrained her urge to glare while he gazed at the Halfling with deep thought.

"You carry the fate of us all, little one."

Her fingers twitched imperceptibly, but her face remained impassive. How dare that bigoted steward call Frodo by her affectionate name for him? The audacity of this steward was like an itch to her scales.

"If this is indeed the will of the Council," Boromir continued, "then Gondor will see it done."

While she was nowhere near fond of Boromir, she admired his loyalty to his people. He was passably honorable in intentions… but still a bigoted steward… And as for Gondor... What authority did the mortal realm of _Gondor_ have in seeing such tasks done? She wanted to sneer, but she became distracted.

"Hey!" They all turned to see a hefty hobbit run through and stand next to Frodo, looking determined to stay.

"Mr. Frodo isn't going anywhere without me!" Samwise Gamgee declared fiercely.

Elrond sighed exasperated. "Not indeed. It is impossible to separate you two, even when he is summoned to a secret council and you are not." The elf couldn't hold back his smile of amusement, neither could the dragon.

"Oi!" Merriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took sprouted from their hiding spots behind the pillar. "We're coming too!" Merry declared.

Elrond's eyes widened, startled by the hobbits' stealth, but Elysia's face twisted into disbelief. She cast an incredulous glance at Gandalf. Would he really allow these hobbits to accompany them on the quest? One hobbit was troublesome enough. But _four? _

Alas, her master seemed determined to ignore her.

"You'll have to send us home tied up in a stack to stop us!" Merry claimed as he stood next to Frodo, whose smile slowly grew and grew. Pippin nodded in agreement.

_Don't tempt me, Merriadoc. _Elysia could only blissfully imagine gagging the two hobbits and sending them off back to the Shire in potato sacks.

"Anyway, you need people of intelligence on this mission… quest… thing…" Pippin said.

Elysia stepped out from her position, glaring at the Took. "Well that rules you out, fool of a Took." She retorted haughtily.

She then smiled. Her smile was for Frodo and no one else as she focused her gaze upon the beloved Halfling, unable to conceal her pride at his sweet courage.

_**"Fricai…. Are you certain you are willing to face this peril?"**_ Her foreign tongue brought much attention through the council, for they have never heard of such speech and the sound of it brought a strange shiver down their spine. Perhaps it was her voice that made the words emanate a distinct strength.

Frodo learned enough of the dragon speech to understand and respond in likeness.

"… _**Yes…" **_

The dragon then placed her hand on her heart and bowed.

"_**Upon my word as a dragon and friend, I shall aid you."**_ Only Frodo, her, and Gandalf out of the Council understood the magnitude of what Elysia just promised. It was an oath only broken by death, bound by the ancient magic of her people.

While the others did not comprehend the foreign tongue, they understood the gesture alone. Boromir's lips curled down whether by disapproval or confusion, Elysia did not know nor did she care. The ecstatic smiles of her four hobbits were enough to give her satisfaction.

Meanwhile, Elrond could only ponder at the sight. "Ten companions…" _A wizard, an elvish prince, a dwarf, a ranger, a steward, four hobbits, and a __**dragon**_**…..**

The mere thought was very odd to the old elf lord. "Very well…." He stated. "You shall be the fellowship of the Ring."

Upon his announcement, Pippin grinned. This was exciting! They even had a title for their company! "Right!... Where are we going?"

There was a loaded pause. Then Elysia turned to glare at the wizard, raising her brow with an unspoken quesiton. Truly was he going to allow _this_ hobbit to take part in their quest?

She was ignored as suspected.

/

/

~O~O~O~O~O~

"You _will_ look after him, won't you?" Bilbo sniffled and blew into a handkerchief. They sat together on a bench, perched high above Imaldris, gazing over the wonders of the elven citadel.

"Bilbo…" She sounded older than she appeared, and Bilbo felt young once again. Her finger gently held his face and guided the old hobbit to return her sweet grey gaze.

"My dear, brave hobbit…. I will do what I can for your nephew... But the stars are telling me that Frodo shall face many perils… Perils that he must face without my aid… The Ring is his burden to bear and his alone." Elysia refused to lie to Bilbo, even if it would give him comfort.

For that, the old hobbit was grateful but also pained.

"If only I had told Gandalf…" He lamented. "If only… I wasn't so blinded by my foolishness…"

"Bilbo Baggins." Elysia stated, disallowing him to finish in his pitiful wallowing. "We dragons have discovered long ago that everything…. _Everything_ happens for a reason… It was fate that you found it in the caves, and it was fate that Frodo was to become its bearer and through it, form a fellowship…. It was fate that brought me to the Shire that day…"

And it was fate that broke her into two halves, and fate that was now placing the course for the halves to become whole. She was foolish to think she could escape it when she departed from Mirkwood.

_No… that was my own foolishness and pure chance. _Her doubts made her feel like a hypocrite, but she'd rather be a hypocrite than face _that_ daunting possibility.

It was Bilbo that needed comforting, not her. She returned her attention to her dearest friend. "So do not wallow in guilt… You are doing a great dishonor on your nephew by doing so." She stated firmly. "Instead, you must have hope. You have to believe in Frodo and his strength…. I believe in him, and that is why I swore an oath to him."

She then burst into a light laughter. "By the storms, what would my kinsmen say? I have just placed the hopes and the strengths of my people in the fate of a hobbit and his perilous quest. How time flies…" She never thought her pride would cave to something like this.

"It seems like only yesterday when you and I met." Bilbo reminisced, sad but also warmed by Elysia. He gave her a wrinkly smile. "If the folks thought you were unapproachable then, they should've seen you when we first met. I had dared to think Thorin to be impossible… Then I encountered you." His weak chuckle grew stronger, and soon it turned into great peals of laughter.

"To see the look on Thorin's face when you tore his thick-headed arrogance so swiftly! HA!"

"Ah yes… Old Oakenshield." She chuckled with Bilbo. "The King Under the Mountain was no match for the Dragon of the Storm."

"Never have I seen that dwarf and his poise break with such blithering fright."

Elysia grinned deviously as her shoulders trembled with contained laughter. "Well, at the least, we managed to discover that dwarves were not meant for the sky."

She snickered while Bilbo howled with croaking laughter. After their pleasant source of amusement, he dabbled away his tears, and they sobered into a more neutral mood. The two friends lapsed into a thoughtful silence. All this nostalgia brought back so many memories of lighter days.

"He regretted it you know…" He murmured suddenly as they stared at the falling leaves.

Elysia hesitated. "… I know…"

Bilbo spared her a side glance. "Did you also know… He was enamored with you."

She gave a shrewd snort at this. "I'm sure his infatuation fell away quickly when he saw how I truly appeared."

"Even then, he found you beautiful." Bilbo sounded so sure that Elysia glanced oddly at the old hobbit. There was no jest in his wrinkled eyes. No smile. He appeared as sober as the hour they discovered Thorin breathing his last breath.

"….Did he now?" She asked in lax amusement, attempting to hide the twist of pain.

Bilbo nodded and bit his lip, uncertain. "I did not want to give you any more sorrow. Forgive me."

"What did he say?" She was not angry, but she would not deny the sadness aching at her heart.

"'He muttered something about sapphires… then said as clear as a bell,

'_a beauty I have been blessed to see in close company, in such purest forms… I would not trade a second of time with her for all the jewels in this world… If only I had more of it… If only..._'

It took me sometime to comprehend what he said, but when I did…" Bilbo didn't finish, but he didn't have to.

Elysia did not move. She stared at her front with glazed eyes. Her mouth parted and she wondered softly, unable to digest this new piece of information.

"I wonder why…" Her throat felt tight. "… I wonder why he never…" She did not finish the sentence.

Bilbo glanced at her, wiping a stray tear. "Perhaps." He croaked. "He was too ashamed… Perhaps that blasted pride of his got in the way again." He let out a watery chuckle.

"Probably." Elysia laughed halfheartedly. "You and your stupid pride, Thorin Oakenshield."

She did not cry, but her eyes were bright and glassy. Dragons do not shed tears so easily. But she could not deny that her heart clenched painfully, for as rigid as their relationship had been, it had been a diamond in the rough. Their friendship had its perils. Pride from the broken earth that clashed against the great self-import of a lonesome sky, but nevertheless it had been a friendship that Elysia treasured as she had with all the others of his company.

And to think…. That once upon a time, the King under the Lonely Mountain, in a quest to slay a dragon, befriended one, and supposedly fell in love with one. That particular unexpected journey was one Elysia would always remember.

The ending of that journey had been bittersweet for all, particularly for her it had been the bitterest, but in time, she had come to cherish the journey's course, as unhappy as its outcome seemed to have been.

* * *

><p>Please read and review! The more reviews, the sooner I'll do my best to post.<p>

-Mana


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10-To Be Enlightened

Elysia sat in her room. Elrond had prepared a great feast for the night; a feast in which she politely excused herself from, despite the inviting thought of good food. There was too much scorn and curiosity in the Gondorian men whom attended, and she did not want to be beleaguered by the stares once again.

Especially the gaze of a certain pointy eared princeling…

She had too many things that required her mulling to enjoy the nice meal, as did all of the fellowship.

Her belongings had been packed. To her grateful surprise, the Rivendell elves had exceeded her expectations and supplied her with all new things custom made to adhere to her. Her clothes had been too tattered to mend, and she had gone through troublesome thoughts on how to replace them. She finally mustered the courage to inquire Elrond on supplying her with the nearest and the quickest tailor to sew a few simple attires out of a few choice garments she could afford and perhaps patch her boots in the process.

The hospitable elves took it a step further and provided her with a new pair of boots, thinly soled, light, and sturdy, precisely to her liking, and even went as far as repairing the ripping seams of her small rucksack. The material she had provided had been declined, and in the place of her old garments, the elves had tailored her much finer ones that she almost felt reluctant to wear for fear of ruining them.

Her stomach churned in demand, causing her to release a long forlorn sigh. Perhaps she should have snatched a few loaves of bread and a hind leg of that boar to eat in the privacy of her own room. But at the thought of encountering the princeling and the infuriating eyes, she quelled such thoughts.

So she grabbed her leather-bound book where she kept her drawings, one of the rare few things she took with her from Bag End just for sentiments sake, and headed towards her balcony in hopes of distracting herself. But a sudden a knock caught her attention, gentle knuckles rapping against the door.

Who would visit her at this hour? Frodo was enjoying food with his friends, and Bilbo was trying to spend as much time with his lad before he departed. Was it Aragorn? Or Legolas?

She mentally stomped at the preposterous—and horrifying—latter possibility.

Her unspoken question was answered by a gentle voice. "It is Lady Arwen…"

Relief quickened Elysia's walk to the door. Curious as to what brought the daughter of Elrond to her room, she opened the door to see the fair maiden peer a little down at her from her greater height. Opening the door wide as a silent gesture for the she-elf to enter, Elysia was surprised at the woven basket of food in her arm.

"I thought it might please you." Arwen smiled attentively. "You were not present for the dinner."

"No… I lost my appetite amongst the company of foolish men." She commented dryly. She swept the look of uncertainty from the she-elf with a flippant wave and gestured to the table in the balcony. "But now I have regained it. Your timing and entrance is most welcome, Lady Arwen."

The fair she-elf smiled sincerely at this and gratefully took the silent invitation to dine with the dragon.

/

Elysia sat with a casual air of leniency, her elbow propped on the table as she gazed at the scenery. She crossed her legs and chewed on a slab of roasted pork.

Swallowing, she cast a side glance at Arwen, who appeared to be a little lost in thought. "I hope you do not mind my lack of etiquette at the moment, Lady Arwen."

"Not at all." The lady shook her head.

"Then speak your mind, Lady elf, for there is a reason you are here is there not?" She plucked a grape from the basket. "And I am quite certain it is not because you find great joy in watching a dragon eat so crassly."

Her comment brought a light laugh from the fair she-elf. Arwen propped her own elbows on the table, her rigid posture forgotten. "Actually, I find your manner very refreshing, lady dragon."

"But that is not why you are here." Elysia stated bluntly. "What is on your mind, Arwen. I shall not ask again."

The she-elf's smile faltered and she gazed at the stars, resting her hand gracefully on her cheek. Even in her troubled musings, Arwen appeared so elegant and comely; it was almost surreal to the dragon… and a bit unfair. Rarely did she feel so cowed by such trivial things, but without the beauty of her scales to shine in this form, Elysia felt her own appearance to be… underwhelming.

"… We are immortal. We cannot grow weak with time and perish of feeble age, but sometimes I cannot help but wonder if it is a curse rather than a blessing of Eru."

Elysia blinked and plucked another grape, staring at it in mild interest. "It is a double edged sword… For being immortal, we live our lives differently than mortals and think differently than them." She tossed the fruit into her mouth.

"Why can we not live like mortals?" Arwen sighed, looking more forlorn. "Why can we not live our lives like them and think in their likeness in the limits of their youth?"

"…. This is about the raggedy ranger, is it not?" Arwen bit her lip at Elysia's straightforwardness. She then gave a small flat smile.

"He has grown fond of that title you bestowed upon him… Though he will not admit it."

"I have grown fond of the raggedy ranger, myself…" Elysia confessed before giving the elf a brief glare. "Do not expose it to him… Men, I find to be such disdainfully ignorant creatures. They are fickle and full of conceit, or so I thought. Yet Aragorn disproves much of my old sentiments. Terribly young, but he bears more honor than many ancients of my time."

Arwen glanced at her. "Aragorn young? How old are you, milady?"

Elysia smirked wistfully. "I hatched in the Second Age, around the season of Isildur's birth." She continued at the astounded look from the elf. "But we dragons mature much differently from other races… I am of age by the draconian standards, but I am still considered rather young by most of my kin…. As a matter of fact... Now that I think about it… Few are younger than I."

Hatchlings had been terribly rare amongst the dragons after the blood wars, but when eggs hatched, there was such great joy amongst the drakes that their happiness brought great fruitfulness in the lands around them.

The age of dragons seemed to be a hard thought for Arwen to swallow, but it was beyond the point. Elysia tilted her head at the she-elf and decided to be forward.

"Milady, you are not troubled by my age, but by your raggedy ranger."

Her frank statement caused Arwen to turn away and refocus her attention to the stars. "He is distancing himself from me."

"The love between an immortal and a mortal is uncommon for a reason." Elysia stated. "I suppose he fears for your death once he passes on in time?"

"… He wishes me to sale west with my people." She admitted. "To leave him before his time and live eternally."

Elysia blinked. "Ah… Well, then… Much like his kind, that ranger is rather dimwitted." She mused loudly, skimming through her sketches while she chewed on a piece of grainy bread.

The she-elf whipped her head to her so quickly, Elysia feared she might have strained a muscle on her slender neck. The dragon stopped chewing and swallowed, tilting her head and gazing at the she-elf, puzzled. Did she misunderstand? Or was Arwen insulted by her blatant statement against her lover?

"…Is he not a fool to think you would heed such demand? I believed you would stay. You have given him your heart, have you not?" She asked curiously. "I am no elf, so correct me if my assumptions are misled, but he has given his heart to you… and yours you have given to him. Is it possible to take it away once more for your kind? Do you not love deeply like that all but once?"

"Love is sacred amongst the elves, and such love as this is something I shan't feel for another." Arwen confessed somberly. "Then do you believe I should wait and not sail with my people?"

There was a pause as the dragon gazed at her with a paradox of a youth's wonder and perceptive wisdom. Then she promptly shrugged.

"I know naught." She closed her sketchbook and leaned back into her seat. "You are no fool, Lady Arwen of Rivendell… You know the price in which you must pay with each choice… If you should stay and wait, you cannot be guaranteed he will return to you in one piece with a beating heart, but if he does you shall live every year, every month, every day, every second of _his_ life, not yours, happily in love. But eventually, that love will lead to your death. Your death will be grieved by those that love you, and that is no little number. You will never see your family again until the end of time." Arwen flinched, but she continued.

"But if you sail, you leave the ranger incomplete, for I am sure he has left a piece of him with you… You shall never see him again and live the rest of your eternal days without him."

It was the most the dragon has spoken in one sitting, and it certainly wasn't the most pleasant of things said.

Arwen's gaze hardened. "If you do not think of me as some ignorant fool, why have you thrown these thoughts back at me?" She demanded.

Elysia showed no remorse or pardon, her gaze was as steady as ever. "Because, Arwen, to think of it is very different when it is being voiced to you… is it not? I dare might say you see the consequences with more severity than before, and that you should… For your sacrifice is great."

The anger in the she-elf diminished with sorrow. "Must the sacrifice be so great for the price of love?"

"Greatest of loves shall entail the hardest of sacrifices. That is what gives it power." Elysia stated frankly. "…and if you truly believe this raggedy ranger of yours is worthy of such sacrificial fealty in love… Then…" Elysia waved her hand to finish her sentence.

Arwen smiled at her more lighthearted gesture. "Do you hold such heart for someone, Elysia? You speak as though you have"

"That is a vague question, lady elf." Elysia deadpanned, fidgeting with the leather thread of her book's binding. "Have I people I love? Yes, I can say in confidence I do, for I love the little one dearly, and I am very fond of that crack-headed wizard, despite all his grumpiness and filthy grey robes. But if you mean by a romantic love, in a sense akin to your bond with the ranger?..."

Elysia hesitated greatly. The dragon's lips pressed together into a thin, pale line as though the words secretly pained her.

"We do mate, but often times there are no lasting sentiments in the mating. It is not an uncommon thing for a dragon to have mated with more than one other, more for the sake of producing stronger offspring or simply for the heat of things. But despite such things, many of us yearn to seek the one our spirit deems as our heart's other half…." Her voice became soft. "That seldom happens."

While she did not provide a direct answer, the mating ideals of her kind startled Arwen, as did much of the draconic culture. "Have you… mated?"

Elysia gave her a bewildered look. "No." She scowled, shifting uncomfortably. "I never found myself wanting such ephemeral things… Perhaps I am too picky; my mother certainly was hard to please…" She muttered before continuing with a clear of her throat.

"It is so infuriatingly complicated for us dragons, even we find it to be a beleaguering concept…" She earned a flummoxed expression and sighed. "More oft than not, we find it difficult to comprehend our own ways. We can only just… _know_ but not understand the reasoning behind the many things that occur around us. Perhaps it is our magic, or the Maia blood in our veins. But to be frank… The manner in which we dragons fall in the love you elves consider sacred and everlasting is… to say the least, it is daunting, and thus incredibly rare, but should it have fruition and success, then it is something precious and perfect."

Arwen frowned. "I… I do not understand. You speak in riddles milady. You sound as though it is a factor that denies you choice of free will."

It was difficult to thoroughly explain to the maiden without revealing too much of what Elysia wanted to keep solely for her own self's knowledge, but she tried.

"It does and yet it doesn't…" Elysia pondered for a moment before elaborating. "We do not choose here." She tapped at her head. "But… this chooses for us." She then tapped at her sternum, where her heart lied. "Sometimes, the reason for the heart's choosing is beyond our own understanding… It may seem blasphemous, for our heart is our own and yet it is capable of going against our own. It is not unlike how your mind holds logic and rhetoric that battle against the will of your heart's choice."

She chuckled humorlessly. "We call it the _Astari_… but it is more like a dagger against your hide…" Elysia muttered, before continuing. "As I have said, it is quite complicated… I have always envied the elven way of love. Tis much more simple… more forward."

"Do you long for such things?"

"Should I?" It wasn't a rhetorical question.

Arwen pondered for a moment before responding. "Does not everyone long for it?"

Elysia blinked. "Everyone longs to be loved, but as for falling _in love_…. I do not want to long for such things."

"Will you not be lonely?" It was such a strange thing, to not desire such love. But this dragon was strange to the she-elf.

"Perhaps I will, perhaps not… I do not want to dwell on it." Elysia confessed. "For it seems too troublesome. I envy the love of the elves, Lady Arwen, but I do not envy the love you bear for Aragorn. I do not envy the risk of having my heart held in hands that could break it so easily with mere words." Her words were not harsh, but they were also not kind.

"Even after all of this? Perhaps it is only in the now, when burdens are placed upon you that you think such solemn thoughts." Arwen pressed. "In the end of this quest, should hope give chance for you to live a fuller life, will you not take the chance to seek it?"

"Fuller life?"

"To marry or mate, to bear children, to be beloved and to love those you call your own by blood and bond. Do you not desire such happiness?"

It was a question that forced some silence, a question that forced her to think, and the thoughts it brought were those of melancholy.

"Arwen…" The youth diminished and in its fading light, those argent eyes looked old. "I bear little luxury of hoping for such things, and thus to desire them will leave me with nothing but grief. Should I seek a mate to bear dragonlings with, the mate must possess many qualities and suffer trials because I will never be able to fulfill the fullness of his desires… I cannot fully give myself away to another even if I wished to."

"But why?" Arwen asked. "What has made it so?"

_Because it is no longer with me…because long ago, I made the foolish mistake of giving it away. _

"… That is… something for another time, Lady Arwen."

Her voice was so calm, so eerily gentle, and so frustratingly vague, but Arwen had little heart to pry when she saw the distinct hollow space chiseled in the dragon's composure.

Perhaps she should change the topic to more pleasant or trivial things. She stared as Elysia began to bit into an apple.

"What goes on between you and Prince Legolas?"

Arwen's sudden inquiry caught Elysia completely off guard, so off guard in fact that her food was caught in her throat. She made a small hacking noise muffled in her mouth and began to curl over in a fit of coughs. Arwen blinked and fought the laugh bubbling up her throat. This was not what she expected when she asked jestingly.

_A dragon choking on food…_

And then she noticed the tip of Elysia's ears begin turning red, a fire seemed to rush up her neck and her cheeks.

_A flustered dragon choking on food…_

Elysia's face scrunched as she forced the large apple chunk down with a great swallow, licking her lips with a forked tongue before she grimaced.

She then turned to glare suspiciously at the highly amused she-elf. "What makes you say this?" Her voice cracked, much to her dismay.

Arwen bit her lip. She should approach this topic carefully. "I have often caught him staring at you… His gaze lingers upon your figure whenever he catches you wandering about. I have known the Prince of Mirkwood long enough to know he has not paid much attention to the opposite gender."

_Ha! And when he does, they hardly ever return that attention!_ She thought to Tauriel and rolled her eyes, unable to prevent the sadistic satisfaction at the prince's misfortune of bearing a one sided love.

"You are being misled by what you see, Arwen." Elysia waved her hand with a scowl. "If he looks at me, it is with contempt and if anything, curiosity."

"He does not seem very contemptuous… Contempt is by far what I would not define the emotion within him when he stares at you."

"He does not _stare_. I have not a clue of you assumptions! You are being delusional! Perhaps your elvish eyes are deceiving you." She rattled before huffing. Now Arwen could not contain her giggle.

"You are not a very good liar, Elysia."

"Bah!" Elysia snorted. "Apparently I am not…. If you must know, I have encountered Prince Greenleaf before."

"And…?" Arwen pressed.

"He shot me with one of his infernal sharp stick throwers and I burned his hair and set fire to a portion of his father's woods…" She gritted her teeth, hoping Arwen's teasing curiosity would cease with this answer.

Silence hung between them. That was not the answer Arwen had expected…

"… Oh dear." Was the only comment she could give.

"Indeed…" Elysia mused grimly. "I am most likely on better terms with his sire than the Woodland prince."

"…. You burned a part of Mirkwood?"

"Oh for the-…" Elysia huffed. "It was not intentional!... Well… Perhaps- but that is far from the point. If anything, it was a favor to them! I burned the nests of those atrocious spiders that infest the tainted woods." She grumbled.

Arwen bit her lip as they fell into silence. Elysia began to rip off her food with more vigor.

"He wounded you?"

Elysia tilted her head and gave the she-elf a sardonic glare. "The story itself is long, it is late now, and quite frankly, it also ruins my appetite, lady Arwen."

Arwen chuckled at this but quickly sobered upon remembering that the fellowship would depart on the morn of tomorrow. Upon seeing the sudden discomfort on her features, it did not take Elysia long to figure what troubled her.

"I cannot promise you he will return… But I can promise you that I shall try to aid him." She stated.

Arwen blinked back tears and smiled at the dragon. "That is all I could ask, _mellon_."

/

/

Elysia's hands rested upon the sapphire pommel of Faersing, its thumb grazed the smooth surface rhythmically, feeling the occasional small bumps of the metal that kept the smooth jewel embedded. The sword was leaning towards her as she sat on her bedside, deep in thought, clothed in dark travel garments.

The elves took great care to consider her previous attire in creating her clothes, and for that she was thoroughly grateful. Her outer robes resembled a black, cowled tailcoat, with the front hem cut shorter than the back and split partially at the side seams to allow her lower half of her body to move freely. Its sleeves were short, leaving her inner tunic's flexible cloth to cover her arms which to her pleasant surprised, were tailored to fit her snuggly. No longer would she have to wrap leather and bindings around her arms to prevent loose cuffs from snagging on anything.

The boots felt snug and padded adequately to provide her ankle flexibility. After adjusting the cross lacing of the outer garment, she had twisted and turned, and discovered to her delight, that the material was as supple as it was durable. It was made to be pragmatic, minimalizing effort and weight. They even went as far as to decorate the borders of the attire with a leafing pattern of blue.

After securing the sash and belt to her waste, she sat on her bed and simply brooded.

Immediately after the verdict was made, she had sent word to the Eldest by hawk. She could only hope the verdict lied to the favor of the Alliance, but it was still uncertain. Meanwhile, she would give her services in seeing that Frodo's task was done. If all was well, the drakes would slowly rise to reinforce arms against the dark forces as the time for the final battles drew near.

If not…

Then she would remain the sole dragon in Middle Earth's aid. Her kinsmen would soon depart from the lands or commit themselves into eternal slumber.

Elysia sighed. She was taking a gamble, but it was the only option.

It was the pinnacle of her duty to see it done, regardless of the verdict made by her kin, for the fate of her people resided with the fate of the Ring, as did all others who reside in Middle Earth.

In a few hours, she must move down to the gates of Imaldris, join the fellowship and partake in another journey. Aside from the uncertainty, something did not sit well with her about this quest.

The quest for Erebor had been different, vastly different. That was a mere adventure compared to how imperative this quest was. The Eldest entrusted her with this purpose, and she entrusted a _hobbit_ with the future of her kind.

It sounded so ludicrous.

Indeed, she was taking a rather hefty gamble.

The door opened with a click and light creak. The sound of wood thumping against the floor soon turned to a rustle of old cloth. The bedside space beside her began to compress and tilt her gravity as a cloak of grey touched her knee.

"… You are brooding." Gandalf mused.

"Astute, Mithrandir." She replied dryly.

Gandalf huffed and a moment of silence hung between them.

"…. The Ring… its power is affecting you, is it not?"

"Its power effects all who stand near it, Mithrandir."

"You know that is not what I mean." Gandalf stated.

The dragon stiffened, and her thumb stopped caressing the pommel. The wizard continued grimly.

"I fear for you, Elysia… The Ring is like poison dripping upon you, and I fear you partaking in this quest and being near its presence will be your bane. It affects you differently… Not only does it tempt you as it does to everyone, but it makes you _remember_."

"You cannot sway me from my oath, Ebrithil." Elysia side glared at the old Istar. "And I daresay that it is good that it makes me _remember_." She grimaced. "While it is not pleasant, it will restrain me. I shall not end up like the bigoted steward who already gazes upon that band of metal as Thorin did with the Arkenstone."

Gandalf chuckled at this. "… Yes… If you ponder upon it that way, it does not affect you the way it does with your kind…"

"Perhaps this was fate." Elysia shrugged.

"Perhaps… Come, Elysia… Let us head to the gathering point."

/

/

~O~O~O~O~O~

They trekked through the lands of the Deep Valley in a single fine line. Elysia remained silent and almost near invisible in the back of the line, content to remain in that aloof manner that could rival a ranger. By nightfall, they eventually made a camp in a ruin more eroded than Weathertop. They spoke amongst themselves, primarily Merry and Pippin conversed noisily while Aragorn and Legolas murmured to one another in elvish.

Ah… speaking of the elf and the ranger. It did not go unnoticed to Aragorn the way Elysia avoided nearing his friend as though he held a plague. She made it painfully subtle, so obscured that most of the fellowship did not notice. Only he and Gandalf saw; while Frodo appeared too preoccupied with his own troubled thoughts.

She was careful in making sure she was situated between the hobbits and the dwarf. It was a clever tactic, to utilize the natural animosity of dwarves and elves to her advantage. Aragorn would have been impressed if it didn't seem so trivial and unlike someone as solid as Elysia.

It would not do. Aragorn almost sighed in exasperation right then and there. This fellowship needed to… well, to be a fellowship if they were going to make progress. So far, it appeared to hold little promise. Boromir seemed to antagonize him naturally. It was inevitable Legolas and Gimli would want little to do with each other. Gandalf was reasonable, but Aragorn had the sensation the old wizard would be a bit too impatient and ill-tempered to making camaraderie out of this odd company with much needed patience the wizard did not have. The hobbits were… the hobbits.

Then there was Elysia. The dragon seemed to be adamant in remaining distant from everything and everyone aside from those she was already acquainted with. She remained sullen and silent in the back like a shadow. She was so secretive, it would make things most difficult for him but he needed her support. There was something about the dragon that made her a source of comfort for the hobbits and even for Gandalf. Perhaps it was her quiet strength.

It seemed best to Aragorn that he should start with her. Though their time spent together was little, the dragon and he shared an honest friendship. With her support, it would make forming some sort of camaraderie in this motley company a bit easier.

So when he went to gather wood, he gave her a pointed look. Elysia raised a brow but silently followed.

When they found a place with scattered, dry wood, he began to breech the topic as subtly as he could.

"You should get to know your companions, Elysia." Aragorn stated as he carried a bundle of sticks.

"I do know the companions." Elysia deadpanned, and when Aragorn gave her a look she huffed.

"Four hobbits, a raggedy ranger, Gloin's son, Thranduil's elfling, my old teacher, and the bigoted steward."

The raggedy ranger did not hide the bemused smile at her nickname for Boromir. "Do not twist my words, dragon. You know what I meant. This fellowship must learn to trust each other, for we will be together for quite some time. I think it is best if you show a little more… sociability with them as you have done with me."

Elysia stopped her gathering and gave Aragorn an even look. "… Are you lecturing a dragon older than your lover, Aragorn?"

Aragorn fought the twinge of pain jabbing his heart at the mention of Arwen and cocked a brow.

"You are older?"

"Don't change the path of our subject, Dunedain." Elysia replied sharply.

"Then hear me lecture, lady drake." Aragorn became stern once more, unwilling to relent.

"Bah, speak of this to your _mellon_, Aragorn, not to me. His petty blood quarrels with the dwarf will serve as an issue."

"You are also my friend, Elysia." Aragorn added. "And you are also wise and not prone to be petty."

"Do you think flattery will get you anywhere?" She flashed him a sharpened smile.

"Elysia..." Aragorn sighed. He was beginning to believe that this infuriating manner in which the drake twisted words was not a dragon thing but simply her nature. "It will take time for Legolas to see reason in building relations with Gimli. The elves are stubborn in that matter, and I am not blind to the bitterness in which Boromir regards me. The hobbits remain unquestioning in your authority, and you are Gandalf's closest companion. I cannot grow the bonds of our fellowship together by my own will, Elysia."

Elysia only gave a small grunt as she walked up to a small dead tree. Aragorn expected her to snap off the few remaining branches when she tapped the dry decaying wood. However, the dragon took a small step back and then sent a fierce kick. Aragorn's eyes widened as the dead tree was snapped from its base-thirteen inches in width—and toppled over. Then the dragon simply gripped the crack running through its middle and split the wood into smaller chunks. When she gathered an armload of the flammable material, she turned to Aragorn.

"This should be enough, yes?" She asked nonchalantly while the ranger still stared at the broken tree.

"Aragorn." He turned at her calling. "If you wish to know whether or not I shall support you, then ask me bluntly rather than waste time and breath with rambling words of bonds, trust, and disagreeable folk." She deadpanned.

When Aragorn opened his mouth, she cut him off with a raise of a hand. "I understand. I understand that this fellowship will hardly be a fellowship without each of us casting our prejudice aside, and I can promise you I will try." She scowled. "But you also have to understand… It pains me to admit such weakness, but this… it is not something I can do with ease."

Aragorn went silent. Elysia's words were sincere, void her usual dry wit, and her eyes told of uncertainty.

"… I understand… Thank you, my friend."

The dragon regarded his thanks curiously, staring at him with unknown thoughts. Once again, Aragorn felt as though his soul was being stripped by her mere gaze.

She was quiet for a moment longer. Then she spoke.

"There is a wood ant in your hair. It's disgusting."

…. Or she was simply visually picking whatever filth she deemed to be on him.

They returned and Elysia tossed the armload into the fire pit before setting herself down on a rock with a smaller chunk of wood. She pulled out a small throwing blade residing within the back leather flap of her belt and began to carve the wood in silence. Boromir and Gimli glanced oddly at Aragorn who had significantly smaller pieces of wood to add to the fire.

The dwarf finally spoke, leaning against his axe and staring at the only female member who was the most distant from the group.

"I say, Gandalf… what made you take on this woman as your apprentice?" He asked out loud. The woman did not cease her work in carving the wood; although he made it clear his question was to be heard by all.

Boromir nodded, resting his elbows on his knees as he turned to the wizard who was contently smoking his pipe.

"Why choose a she-elf, nonetheless? What powers does she possess?"

"That is because she is no she-elf, Boromir." Gandalf stated. Aragorn glanced at the wizard. Were they not taking precautions upon the nature of Elysia?

The lady also seemed startled by this. Her knife froze in chiseling the wood, and she snapped an incredulous, needle sharp glare at the wizard. Gandalf remained unperturbed.

"Then what is she? She is no Halfling nor is she any race of men. She has the ears." Boromir frowned, now confused. "Is she a sorceress of some sort?"

Gandalf shook his head. "Elysia, my dear! Perhaps it is time to enlighten these companions." He called out to the woman. "We must start acting as a fellowship after all."

Aragorn would've smiled smugly if it were in his honorable character. He was sorely tempted to, but as though she read his mind, Elysia's seething glare targeted him.

"Enlighten them, Mithrandir? Or light them?" she asked bitingly. "The requests are so alike in their sounding, but they ask for very different things. Shall I elaborate or shall I simply set them all ablaze?"

Her cheek earned her a glare from her old teacher. "Don't be clever."

"Alas, Gandalf." Elysia turned back to her carving, ignoring the questioning gazes. "I must solemnly confess my cleverness shan't fade for as long as I breathe."

When the wizard grabbed his staff, Elysia hastily continued, for secret fear of being whacked like a misbehaved hatchling in front of others. "If you see it fit, Ebrithil. I trust your judgment."

The wizard looked pleased with himself. It's been centuries, and his simple intimidation technique never diminished in its effectiveness. Dragonlings always required a more hands-on form of discipline. "Then would you be a dear and light the fire so Samwise can make us a delightful meal while we share a bit amongst ourselves?" He asked, blowing a lazy ring of smoke.

Elysia scowled and stood up from her carving. She walked up to the fire, with the knife and wood still in hand. How was she going to start a fire? She had no flint nor do they see any matches.

The woman licked her lips and tilted her head towards the pit. She then promptly _spat_ at the wood.

The reactions of the majority were flabbergasted, not at the unladylike action—well perhaps Boromir did—but at the quality of the spit…

She spat out a tiny comet of bright blue light, and when it struck the wood it immediately ignited with a loud pop and within seconds there was a roaring flame. Frodo chuckled at her "fiery spit" and the other hobbits simply stared open mouthed.

"Bless my beard…." Gimli stared at the fire, disbelieving it to be real. Legolas simply tilted his head with a quirk of amusement on his mouth.

Boromir, however, looked disturbed.

"Did she just _spit fire?"_

"Thank you, Miss Elly." Sam quickly pulled out a pan and some spices.

"She just spat… out _fire_." Boromir whispered.

"What's the matter, bigoted steward?" Elysia tilted her head as she continued to carve. "Disturbed by my impropriety?"

Boromir glared at her insulting title to his person. "I am a steward of Gondor and I will-"

"You cannot _demand_ respect from a _dragon_, Boromir." Gandalf interrupted calmly.

There was a heavy pause. Then Gimli raised his axe in defense.

"A dragon?!" He glared at the calm lady with great unease and suspicion. Boromir scoffed.

"You jest, gray wizard. Do you really expect me to be fooled that the uncouth woman is a dragon?"

Gandalf appeared mildly irked. "Does my countenance speak of jests?" He huffed.

"…. Then has the smoke addled your brain?" Boromir whispered. He glanced around, but none seemed to support his disbelief. "What madness has fevered all of you?"

"Tis no madness, steward of Gondor." Legolas sounded almost impatient. "Tis the truth."

Gimli snorted, skepticism clear on his face.

Elysia's scowl deepened, but when she caught the encouraging gaze of a certain blue eyed hobbit and the pointed glance of a ranger, she heaved a sigh. She set aside her carving, sheathed her dagger, and rolled up her sleeve. Without further hesitation, the maiden then reached into the blazing fire before any could stop her.

The flame licked her skin and embraced her hand in orange light, but to the astonishment of the dwarf and the steward, she did not shy away from the searing heat in pain. The maiden even began shuffling through the burning coal, remaining unflinching as the fire crackled and burned against her skin.

Deep from the fire's heart she pulled out a small, glowing lump of coal and held it out as a child would pull out a pretty pebble from a pond. Her hand remained unmarred, not the slightest reddened mark or sign of charred skin, but its nails were darkened with soot.

The luminosity of the coal in her palm lit her face in a haunting dim glow. Pools of silver appeared dangerous and bright in reflecting the shifting orange light of the flame. Boromir's breath hitched at the sight of her dark pupils thinning into slits.

"Fire cannot harm a dragon." Her smoky voice turned feral.

With little hesitation, Boromir unsheathed his sword. His movement evoked various reactions from the fellowship. The hobbits appeared surprised and outraged. Gandalf's countenance darkened, and Aragorn zeroed in on the sword with a wary expression. The elf, though he did not move, appeared to find it hard to compose his anger.

"What sorcery is this?! What demon have you wrought on us all, wizard?" Boromir snarled, pointing his sword at the impassive maiden.

"Are Gondorian men as deaf as they are insufferably stupid?" Elysia wondered aloud, earning her an unappreciative glare from Aragorn.

"You could do without such morbidity, Elysia." Gandalf chided rather calmly despite the obvious standoff the steward was determined to have with the dragon.

"You demanded I 'enlighten'!" Elysia held up the still burning coal. "I en_lightened_!"

Aragorn did not know whether he should be appalled by the pun or the situation. Perhaps both… "Boromir, lower thy sword from Lady Elysia." He demanded as gently as he could.

"Yes, please, bigoted steward." Elysia mocked, and threw the coal into the fire, causing sparks to rile from the flame in a hiss. Her stoicism began to twist into a slow growing malice. "Lower that pathetic metal piece of your feeble masculinity from my person before I force it down your throat in molten form."

She made little effort to restrain her growing anger. How dare this mortal raise a blade against her? Fellowship or no, she was not going to tolerate such conduct against her.

"If you are a _dragon_" Boromir spat. "Then that is all the more reason for me to raise my blade at you."

"Boromir!" Gandalf appeared ready to intervene physically. "Do not stain her honor with such disgraceful inquisition. Dragon she maybe, but she is also a lady and a cherished ally."

"Is it so disgraceful to demand answers? To be cautious of such dangers _you_ have presented without our consent, Gandalf?" Boromir argued, sword still raised. "I shall not risk the-"

He was silenced by a great gale of wind and a rush of flaming blue light. The dwarf let out a bellowing cry as he fell back and rolled over as a powerful solid force shoved Boromir to the ground so quickly he was unable to counter. Before he could recover his fallen sword, something pinned his torso to the earth.

The dwarf reached for his axe but was stopped by the Mirkwood Prince who raised a hand in warning. Gandalf continued smoking his pipe, the hobbits looked startled, and Aragorn simply stared.

Boromir stared at the slit pupils in mithril hued pools, frozen in fear as the angular head of the blue drake cocked. A scaly hand was pressed against Boromir's chest, its ivory claws pricking him. If she were to press her fingers down she would pierce his skin and gouge out his organs like a crow's beak on carrion.

"Rather than disgraceful, Steward of Gondor, it is _unwise_. We dragons have a saying..." Her voice was the same, but it held a deep, demanding authority. Her tail twitched as if she were a cat with a mouse pinned under its paw. She bared her teeth, revealing sharp fangs as she hissed.

"Do not stalk your prey lest you are certain it is prey." She hissed, flicking her forked tongue. "In the essence of that wisdom, do not threaten me lest it is within your ability." She placed the slightest of pressures on her talon, hard enough to make him feel pain but not enough to draw blood.

"I…"

"Should be wise to heed the words of a dragon, bigoted steward. Our threats are not idle… They are a promise." She finished, finally relenting her hold on Boromir. The man began to sit up shakily as the sapphire drake backed away. In a swirling cloud of scales, she began to shift, and there stood Elysia, unamused with irritation evident in her steely eyes.

There was a silence amongst the men in the camp, until a dwarf spoke, surprisingly calm despite having discovered the same time as Boromir had.

"You are rather small, for a drake." Gimli commented.

Elysia rolled her eyes, relieving some of the tension. "I do not need size to flatten the bigoted steward to the earth… Now where would that lead us in this fellowship, if what is left of him is crushed like a bug with its entrails smudged on the ground?"

Boromir and the hobbits cringed at her imagery. The dragon plucked her carved wood and began to carve again, anger seeming to fade the more she carved in silence.

"And to correct your misconception, I am no spawn of Morgoth, Melkor, or Sauron…" Her voice was calmer now as she explained. "We dragons are direct descendants of Maia who took the serpentine form. The oldest dragon that lived at our beginning died in Du Fyrn Abr Domia… The War of Dominance, translated in the common tongue. The dragons recorded in the history of Middle Earth; Glaurung, Ancalagon, Smaug… and the others… You know them as wretched wyrms because they were enslaved… Morgoth was the first who succeeded in enslaving a dragon… And after he did, he did not stop."

She began to carve more intricately into the wood, lost in her thoughts. The dark sky and the light of the fire seemed to cast an aura of old sorrow around the dragon.

"… We differ in kind… Some of us love treasure… Some of us have no desire for it… Some of us breathe fire, and some do not… We are a class of many, some reside in clans while others remain alone; proud, fierce, and old… but we remain in fewer numbers than before, ever since the Shadow came and the blood wars… Those of us untainted and still free prefer to keep to themselves, now more than ever. For as long as the Ring survives and Sauron's evil grows, my race will be vulnerable, and Sauron's reign will eventually lead us to extinction." She glanced up to Frodo, no ire in her as she pointed at him.

"You, Frodo, are holding the object that will determine the survival of the dragons."

While Frodo sobered at the brutal truth, Boromir only appeared to have more questions.

"Why not fight?" He asked. "His terror will destroy all of us! Men, elves, dwarves, hobbits… Why not stand and fight if you are so mighty?"

"Because… While magic runs thick through our veins, our power is the very reason why we are vulnerable to the shadow. We cannot afford to have another Place of Sorrow." While most of the fellowship did not understand the term, the very uttering of it sent shivers down their spine. Elysia began to carve her wood with more fervor in hopes to distract her from spiraling into dark thoughts.

But Boromir almost scoffed. "So you choose to hide and simply wait?" Gandalf cast a warning glare on the steward, but it was ignored. "Because you do not wish to fight a war?"

"What am I then? A toadstool?" Elysia snapped. "Yes, we hid, we were forced to wait, but it was not solely for our own. _Think, _or is that far too tedious to fill your vacant mind with tactical thoughts?"

Boromir opened his mouth, but Elysia cutt him off, "The War of Dominance was more than just a war… It was… a _massacre_." She hissed so fiercely that Boromir fell silent. "Imagine… Should Sauron gain what is left of my race, what would be the outcome? What would be left of your city of rocks, the elven woods, even the empty plains?"

There would be nothing left. Sauron would not hesitate to let Middle Earth burn under dragon fire.

There was a maddened blaze in the dragon's eyes, but it lasted only for a heartbeat. A cool mask of indifference came in its place as she looked back down to her carving.

"We are not evil beings… We can weep, we can laugh, we can sing and dance for joy and celebration, we can bear great compassion and great _annoyance." _She glared at the steward, before softening. "and we can… love… deeply. We hold value in honor and loyalty…"

She then gazed at Gimli. The fellowship had begun to gather around the flame to listen to her mystified voice.

"Your father was one of few who knew what I was." She smiled wistfully. "And judging from your surprise, he kept his vow of secrecy… A very honorable dwarf, Gloin is."

"And my father." Legolas's voice suddenly said. "My adar knew, did he not?"

"…Yes, he and I met before your time." Elysia confirmed, although she gave a quizzical glance his way. His participation was sudden. She hadn't been aware he was listening.

The dragon blew on her finished carved piece, clearing the wood shavings and rotated her work. It was a wooden carving of Orthanc, and detailed rather fastidiously for quick craftsmanship. The hobbits admired the handiwork while Gandalf grimaced.

"Miserable tower." He muttered.

Elysia smirked, tossing the carving into the fire. The fellowship fell silent, content to watch the wood smolder and burn.

/

/

They travelled again and stopped at a hill of boulders and brush. Elysia went to be a lookout with the elf prince, primarily because it gave her an excuse to stay away from him. They scouted on opposite directions.

Things had eventually quieted into a strange peace in the fellowship. After Elysia's unveil, Boromir had tried to gather what remained of his dignity and fell into silence, but he did not stop casting furtive, curious glances at the dragon. Gimli was a bit bolder after the mentioning of his father and Thorin's company. He asked her questions, content to speak while she was content to hear.

Elysia paced her stride tactfully beside the dwarf in hopes it would keep the distance she sought to maintain between her and the elf. Gimli did not seem to mind. He appeared at ease at being so near a dragon that lent a generous ear. She was a good listener, perhaps the only one that took genuine consideration into hearing his opinions, replying every now and then.

"Quite frankly, I am relieved that you are a dragon." He said out of the blue.

"Really? Why is that, red beard?" She asked, amused.

Gimli huffed. "One pointy eared elf is bloody unbearable enough. I'd rather that you be a dragon than an elf."

The dragon's lips twitched into a tickled smirk, while Legolas cast the dwarf a snide glance before scouting ahead.

"I never understood why you creatures loathed each other so." She confessed after some thought. "Thorin's grudge, I can understand, but it oft reminded me of a hatchling's tantrum. It would've saved us much peril if he hadn't had such fits of distrust in companies other than his own."

"Bah, elves cannot be trusted! They are fickle with their promises."

Legolas' stride seemed to falter, as though he was sorely tempted to turn and give the dwarf a piece of his mind. But Elysia quickly intervened.

"As are dwarves when it comes to their treasure trove." She meant no offense by it, but dwarfs were offended easily.

"That is rich, coming from a creature whose love of treasure is a legendary thing!" Gimli barked.

Elysia remained unfazed. "As I have explained prior, not all drakes bear insatiable love for treasure. Though, we do hold great interest in beautiful things. Twas not in our nature to lust for such opulence… Dark magic has twisted it into such." She shrugged at this. "It can't be helped. You dwarves make stones and metal look enticingly pretty. It can become problematic to many sires and dames."

"Why is that?"

The dragon's smirk turned almost wicked. "Do you really think it is the olden dragons that steal your troves, master dwarf? Most old dragons cannot trouble themselves into such games of take-away."

Gimli became distracted by his original offense by the dawning realization, "You mean to tell me… our treasures have been stolen by _children_?"

"Well yes… Dragonlings are a rather enthused in their mischief, and they have a love for shiny things. But the untainted ones truly mean little harm by it."

The dwarf did not know whether he should feel upset or mollified by this information, but he decided not to dwell on it.

"I shall attempt to take that as a compliment. We dwarves are well versed in our crafts, indeed… Which do you favor the company of, dragon? A dwarf or an elf?" Gimli asked.

Their conversation had become a subtle game of question and answers. Little did both know that the others had kept an ear towards their conversation as well, genuinely curious.

Elysia pondered for a moment before responding. "There are many faults as there are many strengths in both races. My time in Thorin's company was made quite enjoyable with Fili's and Kili's presence. Of the dwarvish company, they were my fondest, although Kili did act much like a hobbit with his curiosity." She mused. "And Balin was the wisest dwarf I've ever met, while Gloin was as honorable as he was quick to draw his axe." Gimli nearly swelled with pride at the mention of his sire.

"But alas." She sighed. "Thorin was by far the most infuriatingly stubborn dwarf I've ever met." Elysia scowled, though it was in good nature. "And it is hard to understand the love you dwarves bear for caves and rocks. Tis daunting to be caged by stone where stars are unseen."

Gimli deflated. "So you prefer the elven folk then?"

"No." She deadpanned. "My patience tends to grow thin with elven folk at times… They are hospitable and kind on the surface, but they're like cut and polished gems with far too many faces. I can do without their need to be overbearingly polite even when they mean insult."

Gimli chuckled at this, pleased by Elysia's apt description of the elven folk. "Fair enough, milady."

"Alas, master Gimli, I'm afraid I tend to favor the simplicity of a hobbit's company." Elysia confessed.

Frodo smiled while Pippin turned to them. "You really can't _not_ favor our company! We're irresistible!"

"I can do without your idiocy quite often, Pippin." Elysia retorted.

/

/

~O~O~O~O~O~

Elysia wanted to roll her eyes at the steward's swordsmanship. They made camp once more as dusk showered the horizon with purpled hues of red. Boromir had made it his daily routine to practice his skills with the blade and shield. It seemed a bit clumsy, albeit effective, but Elysia had to remind herself that men were not as supple, quick, or strong as other folk.

Still, the way he swung and thrust with the blade aimlessly into the air… Why was he putting so much force into each blow? There was only one strong strike needed to kill an opponent. No need to waste energy. He appeared to be puffing his chest a bit as well, making himself appear bigger, and prouder. An enemy was not going to be impressed by his torso's size.

It became a little game for the dragon to pinpoint the openings and weaknesses in the steward's stance. She found twenty different ways to maim or kill him within ten minutes of his swishing and swaying.

The game was beginning to bore her when she spotted something in the distance of the dim light.

/

Legolas became so attuned to their female companion; he noticed her sudden stillness immediately.

He had been hoping to seek her company, as this time she was without the dwarf's company, preoccupied with observing the steward and his exercise. Her eyes were breaking down the movements with a clinical gaze, but the steward was being foolish, having misunderstood it. The Gondorian had been putting more effort into each movement in attempts to impress the lady with his masculine might and skills. Legolas had little doubt that even the dwarf could notice it.

But then Elysia became distracted. The dragon's head faced towards the distance with a sudden jerk. With a felid air, she lowered her head and leaned forward from her perch.

When her hand shifted to her belt, Legolas was alert. Did she sense an enemy approaching? He was about to approach, readying his bow, trying to see what she saw, but the dragon leapt into a mad dash.

She zipped past the steward like an eager hare, distracting him from his sword's swing. Aragorn was also startled, he jumped for his sword prepared to fight whatever caught the dragon's sudden act.

Elysia lunged into the brush in a nose dive, out of sight.

There was a loud thud, the sound of scraping dirt.

Then there was an angry, trembling squeal that was cut off as soon as it was expressed with a sickening crack and the sound of a blade sinking into flesh.

There was the sound of more cutting. Then there was silence.

The men stared as the bush rustled and out came their female companion, haphazard strands of shorter hair loosened from her long braid, her olive cheeks flushed with excitement. She carried with her the fresh carcass of a tusked boar, its body almost as big as she, gutted and ready to be skinned and cooked.

The men could only stare.

She tossed the boar to the ground as though it weighed like a light sack of potatoes before she began to clean the blood from her curved dagger.

Aragorn quietly went to examine the carcass. The boar's head was tilted at an odd angle, and there was a clean puncture between the ribs where her dagger pierced the heart. It had been a clean, quick kill, but he could not wrap his mind around the broken neck.

"Did you mean to break its neck?"

Elysia stopped dusting off her clothes and gave him an odd glance. "How else would I have broken it?"

"With your bare hands?" Boromir appeared incredulous as he strode to the carcass and began to examine it. The neck and the hide was rough. Even in death, he could see the fibrous trails of hard muscle. The boar had been young and robust.

Gandalf however, appeared pleased. "Excellent, my dear drake. The sausages were too seasoned for my old taste."

Meanwhile, Sam glanced at his humble frying pan. "I'm going to need a bigger pan."

The men were still trying to wrap their minds around the picture of the small female snapping the boar's neck with a twist of those slender arms. Elysia gave a dry snort at their expressions and looked to Pippin for assistance, who so eagerly obliged with a simple answer.

"She's a dragon."

There were no questions or complaints as the fellowship ate roasted boar meat that night.

/

/

~O~O~O~O~O~

Pippin's blade clanked noisily as he practiced his stance and blocked Boromir's halfhearted blows. Elysia was content to scout once more in the opposite side of Legolas' range. The skies were clear and inviting, she almost sighed in longing.

Then she heard Gimli grumble next to Gandalf.

"… Gandalf, we could pass through the Mines of Moria." He suggested. "My cousin, Balin, would give us a royal welcome."

Elysia froze and turned to her old master. The Mines of Moria? Was the dwarf thick headed? Did he not know of the darkness said to dwell in those mines?

Gandalf also appeared very grim at this idea. "No, Gimli. I would not take the road through Moria unless I had no other choice."

While Eysia would like to have seen Balin, she couldn't help but agree. The birds had whispered of dark things to be festering in the mines. The dwarves had fallen silent, and no longer could the avian creatures hear the rhythmic clack of hammer on stone. Something terrible had happened.

Pippin gave a sudden yelp in pain, much to Boromir's regret. Soon the hobbits were scuffling with the men, determined to avenge their honor with yells of triumph. Aragorn seemed to have joined the fray.

She was about to turn to spectate the amusing sight, but a dark cloud and the jumbled sound of multiple faraway voices demanded her attention. Legolas was already staring at the suspicious dark mass flying against the wind.

The dragon leapt across the camp and stood by the elf's side, ignoring her general discomfort.

The other members of the fellowship were beginning to notice the odd black mass as well. With the wind against the dark miasma moving their way, Elysia's ears and Legolas's eyes could figure out enough.

"Wings." She stated as she heard the flaps and the croaky caws. "…. Black birds."

"Crebain from Dunland!" Legolas cried, and Aragorn quickly ordered the fellowship to hide. They moved quickly to extinguish the fire and hide their belongings. Elysia had no other choice but to slide under a brush with the elf and soon they were out of obvious sight.

The swarm of foul birds came, encircling their hill in a cacophony of ugly croaking caws. Elysia grimaced as she made out the swarm of words. Crebain were foul, noisy, and untrustworthy, and what's more concerning is that they never ventured this route often for fear of becoming eagle's prey.

"**Did you see?"**

"**Where."**

"**They were here…"**

"**White wizard said to seek. We seeking, but for what."**

"**Suspicious. Suspicious. We saw something."**

"**Saw them, I did… Saw them, I did."**

"**Keep searching, keep looking…"**

"**I smell fire… I smell food…"**

"**Look, find… Seek, and smell…"**

"**Be the eyes of our master. Scan this land."**

Elysia's head was beginning to ache with all the ear-abusing noise. Legolas gave her a concerned glance, noticing her obvious discomfort.

"Damned noisy birds." She hissed. "All that racket of wretched jabbering."

The Crebain circled and eventually left. The fellowship emerged from their hiding spots and Gandalf grimaced.

"Spies of Saruman."

"They saw us." Elysia stated. "The wretched white Istar is keeping watch of the south passage."

"You understand Crebain?" Legolas asked curiously.

"Unfortunately." She scowled and shook her head. "We drakes can understand all flying creatures… They make such an insufferable racket... Gives me a headache…. Never trust the blackbirds."

Gandalf cursed under his breath. Saruman had sensed their coming. The plains were too exposed to grant them safe passage on their journey, especially if the blackbirds were his eyes. They had to move to higher altitudes. Crebain could not handle the extreme temperatures of such areas.

There was only one route he could think of. "We must take the pass of Caradhras!"

Elysia stopped her muttering and whipped her head to the wizard. Gandalf met her eyes and they exchanged something in the silence of their gaze. Elysia's eyes looked strained; almost dazed. Legolas glanced back and forth at the wizard and dragon, while the others were too distracted by the sudden disturbance of their peace.

After the silent exchange, Elysia merely gave a small nod. "If that is what you think is right… We should prepare for the cold."

The hobbits were stout folk, but even they would have struggles handling the bitter cold and higher altitude of the mountains. There were wild rams in these parts, ovis, some deer, and mountain goat. It wouldn't take long for her to sniff them out and hunt a few, not only for their meat but for their fur.

She made way to start her hunt, but gentle hand grasped her arm. Legolas was searching her gaze for something as he spoke.

"There is something about the mountains that bother you." It wasn't a question, but a statement. He was not blind to the melancholy evident in the dragon's countenance.

Elysia hesitated, unsure of how to respond or react to the elf's observation. There was little time to dawdle upon it and enlighten him so she departed with a simple, vague remark.

"It is not the mountains, but what dwells within."

* * *

><p>Moving is tedious. Anyways, read and review please! It's always a good motivator to update sooner!<p>

-Mana


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11- A Memoir of Ice and Fire

_Once upon an ancient time, deep in the lands of the east, there dwelled a mighty dragon. He reigned over the inland Sea of Helcar and the Mountains of the East, nesting near the Lamp of the Valar. His scales shone like pure starlight, and such radiance was only paralleled by the nobility of his heart. _

_He was called Eragon, the Heaven's dragon. He guarded the lands he claimed as his home, blessing the Sea of Helcar with his ancient magic. When the first elves began to awaken, he watched over them as well, unabashed, unoffended, not minding them inhabiting his realm. _

_ Eragon watched them from afar, watched them flourish in culture and craft. He listened to their songs, and a longing began to grow in his heart. For as strong and great as he was, he was also in a life of solitude. _

_ While the radiance of his hide never faded, his heart's spirit did as it began to drown in the lonely despair. _

_ Until he saw her. _

_ She was of the Vanya, the first and the fairest of the elven folk. A songstress of such purity in every way and form, with a single song, she enraptured the noble dragon. Her voice could bring light into any darkness and spin passion within the dullest of hearts._

_ She was called Erulin by her Vanyarin kin. To him, she was the songstress of his heart, his Astari. _

_ The great dragon felt his spirit stir, and a newfound strength stoked the fire within him. He watched her from afar, but even with such distance, his love grew greater and his heart sang stronger to her. How he longed to approach her. How he longed to join her melody with his own and weave a heart's song with her. _

_ But Eragon despite all of his might, feared her scorn. He feared his affections would be spurned by her sight of him, how un-elven he appeared. He knew naught of what elves might do upon seeing his being, for as radiant as he appeared, he was powerful and fierce. The last thing he wished to do was strike fear into his beloved Vanyarin elf's heart. The sight of her terror at him would surely cause him to claw away at his starlit scales. So he remained hidden from sight, barely content to watch his Astari grow more beautiful with each moon. _

_ Then the darkness began to grow, and he found his Songstress cornered in peril by Melkor's werewolves. Upon seeing her in harm's way, the dragon did not hesitate to come to her aid, blinding the werewolves with his light before setting them ablaze. In his fervor, he exposed himself to her judgement and waited for her scorn but it never came. Erulin gazed upon the starlit dragon with marvel and asked him of his desires in hopes to repay his valor. _

_ Eragon only asked her for a song._

_ And so she sang, and it was said that her song was so beautiful, the stars began to fall from the sky to pay tribute to her melody, and the dragon… He fulfilled his own wish to sing with her, and their song melded their hearts together. _

_Erulin fell in love with the dragon in all of his being, and their hearts' song was so powerful, it changed him. In a dazzling light of departing scales, the dragon came forth in the form of a man._

_ She swore then, to sing to him and for him only. _

_ And Eragon, in return, bestowed Erulin something no dragon before him ever dared to bequeath to a non-dragon being. _

_ From his heart, he brought forth a sphere of silvered light and placed it in his beloved Songstress's hands with a promise._

_ "Your song is mine as my heart of hearts is now yours."_

_ She cherished the dragon stone with all her being and the two lovers shared their years together with undying passion. _

_ Until the darkness swung its final blow…. Melkor sought the collapse of the northern Lamp of Valar to spite his brothers and father. Eragon, in his attempts to defend his realm and his beloved, took one last stand against the fallen Maia, only to be struck down into the waters with a mortal wound. His beloved songstress and mate rushed into the water and wept as she sang for her dragon to rise. Erulin's tears and song began to empower the ancient magic of the dragon already woven into the Sea of Helcar and in the dragon stone she bore._

_ The power of her song drew her lover out of the water's depths and into her arms, healing him of his mortal wound._

_But alas, the northern Lamp of the Valar were torn down and in its destruction, the eastern lands were facing a catastrophe. As the world around them began to fall and burn, the dragon and the Songstress poured every ounce of their strength into their last heart's song. _

_The holy waters of the Helcar's inland sea vanished, and in their dying breath, in the arms of the other, Eragon swore that should Eru Illuvitar grant them a second chance, his spirit would find Erulin once more, and without second thought, would offer her his heart again. And Erulin promised Eragon, that should they begin again, it would bear greater fruition than their current bond. _

_Such was the tragedy of the first lovers of dragon and non-dragon kind… and it would not be the last. Generations upon generations of such pairing ended in anguish. It was soon believed that such union was cursed with the tragic fate of their predecessor, Erulin and Eragon. Lest the songstress and her dragon roam once more in the realm of Arda, lest they find one another once more and live their mated life taken so early from them, no other union before them would bear lasting fruit. _

* * *

><p>

/

~O~O~O~O~O~

Elysia was a dragon, she did not feel cold and heat as mortals did. She could soar through a blizzard in the high north peaks and merely feel refreshed; walk through the desert of Harad and happily absorb the searing heat of the sun.

So while she did not have that feather light touch in the snow as the Prince of Mirkwood did, she fared far better than the others.

She was near the front, aiding Gandalf by making a more comfortable path with her kicks and resilient heat. Snow melted fast to her touch, and she did not mind carrying the load of freshly skinned furs and supplies. But despite her helping, the others of their travelling group still struggled under the bitterly cold conditions.

The sound of Frodo grunting as he fell made her stop and turn.

The ringbearer toppled and rolled through the uneven snow. Aragorn quickly helped Frodo up, only for Frodo to panic at the missing weight on his neck. The Ring had slipped from him.

Elysia immediately zeroed in on the gleaming gold band, but it was the steward who picked it up. Dangling it by the chain, Boromir stared at the little thing in wonder. The fellowship tensed. There was something daunting about the man's attraction to the golden band.

While Elysia could not see his face, she could sense the hunger. The steward was allured. The Ring whispered sweet things to the man. She narrowed her eyes, ready to intervene when Boromir did not heed Aragorn's first call.

She had sent word to the Eldest, and in return, a snow owl had come to her when they entered Caradhras. It only held a vague reply.

"_Take caution in the eyes of the mortal men, and do not trust the dead-eaters."_

Dead-eaters, vultures and crows, they had betrayed the dragons and served as spies now for the enemies. But the Eldest gave no word as to the aid the dragons could bring, if they ever would. It made Elysia all the more troubled, and thus she found little room in herself to tolerate the steward's fickle behavior with the Ring.

"Boromir!" Aragorn snapped, breaking Elysia from her troubled thoughts. "Give the Ring to Frodo."

Boromir finally returned to his senses, still a little dazed. Elysia released a breath she hadn't realized she held when the steward returned the Ring to its bearer. But she could not stop the growl that escaped her throat when he ruffled the hobbit's head.

"At ease, my dear dragon." Gandalf patted her shoulder, and they returned to the trek.

The trek was becoming perilous. Elysia finally relinquished her role in path-making, a task Gandalf now did, and served her uses elsewhere. She held Pippin and Merry close to her, not minding them burying their faces in the crooks of her neck, desperately grateful for her unnatural warmth.

Boromir held Sam behind her while Aragorn held Frodo. She would have sought to hold her little one herself, but she could not bear being so near the Ring. So if she were to entrust anyone at this time, it would be Aragorn, to see to Frodo's wellbeing.

Gimli, though small in stature, tore through the snow with the vigor in all dwarves. The cold merely dampened his mood, but gave him little trouble. Besides, it was highly doubted that the dwarf would accept any sort of assistance.

"I-I'm hungry." Pippin mumbled into her neck.

Elysia did not respond with a jab, but held the feeble hobbit closer. The hides she gathered from her recent kills had served their purpose greatly. The others of the fellowship aside from the elf and the dragon were using the skins as shawls against the cold.

"Hush, little bird. Do not let the wind chap your lips." She soothed in a rare show of comfort. Pippin obeyed and closed his eyes, snuggling further towards her.

A strange echo passed in the icy winds.

"There is a fell voice in the air!" Legolas warned.

Anxiety sent shivers down her spine. The voice echoed with malice and magic.

"It's SARUMAN!" Gandalf cried, but his warning was too late.

A rumble trembled the mountain and perilous chunks of rock began to fall from above. Elysia quickly shoved herself and her two hobbits against the cliff, dodging the hazardous rubble.

"He's trying to bring down the mountain!" She snarled. Hatred for the white wizard burned in her gut. The magician had no honor.

"Gandalf!" Aragorn warned. "We must turn back!" Frodo looked miserable and frightened in his grasp.

"No!" Gandalf glared at the skies and began to rise. If they turned back now, they would be forced to take the Gondorian road or worse, head to Moria. He turned to his dragon.

She knew what to do without him needing to call for her aid. Gently, she released her hold on Merry and Pippin and they huddled amongst themselves while she rushed to Gandalf. The dragon reached and grabbed the end of Gandalf's staff.

"Control, Elysia!" Gandalf warned. Elysia understood and closed her eyes. The gnarled tip of Gandalf's staff began to conjure a blue swirl of magic, and Gandalf began to call out to the dark clouds, aided by the storm drake, in an attempt to calm their rage.

"Gandalf!" Elysia's voice was strained. Saruman's dark magic was growing strong with the currents of the storm; the wind would not hear her no matter how hard she tried. She could feel him pouring all his malice and energy into bringing the mountain down.

It was remarkable. The wizard should not have this much power. White or no, the wizard should not be holding this much authority over the skies at such distance. He was being assisted, fueled by his master through the connection made by the Palantir.

"Gandalf! It's too lat-" Saruman's spell was already finished before Gandalf could conjure a counter. Lightning crackled above, and a bright bolt tackled the peak of the cliff. The fellowship stared up in horror.

Elysia had to act quickly. She grabbed Gandalf by his cloak and yanked him down to her arms. Shoving him against the men, dwarf, and hobbits, she snatched up Merry and Pippin against her and shut her eyes.

They heard the rip of fabric amongst the howls and grumbles of the mountain. Legolas felt something thin but strong envelope his body and promptly yank him to the huddle.

The males were all embraced and shaded by something warm and blue, but before they could see what it was, they were forced into darkness. Ice, snow, and rock crashed down upon them, pounding against the odd warm blue barrier. Snow still found them through a few leaks in the shade, but for the most part they were protected.

Pippin jerked up his head at the sound of a small soft grunt of strain. Elysia's body was as rigid as rock as she hunched over them. She wore a pained grimace.

"Elly!" Frodo muffled out a cry.

Aragorn felt the thin but stout blue membrane and the skeletal frame covering them like a taut tent. It dawned on him then. They were wings, her wings. Elysia had used her body to shield them.

Pippin grew frantic and tried to wrap his arms around Elysia, but his hand was stopped by something protruding from her back.

"Elly…" He gasped.

Legolas was stuck to Elysia's side, for her warm appendage was wrapped around him like an arm holding him against her. He gently separated himself from the appendage and began to clear the snow around her.

Elysia gritted her teeth and inhaled sharply as she pushed herself to stand straighter. Her knees wobbled from the sheer weight of the load pressing against her back. But the stubborn dragon gave a snarl and straightened herself. Snow, rock, and ice began to fall as the layers began to rise and out came a pair of massive leathery blue wings. The fellowship shook and brushed off the remaining snow that leaked through her coverage.

As soon as they were clear from being buried alive, Elysia began to massage her shoulders.

"Elysia…"

"I'm fine." She spat, but her wings shuddered, and they were unconvinced. From her shoulder blades down to her lower back, the wings were attached by bone, scales, and leathery skin. Two parallel sections of her clothes were torn as she forced her wings to tear through, not having time or patience to use a spell.

Legolas gently brushed off snow and rock from her right wing while Aragorn and Boromir tended to the right.

"Is anything broken?" asked Aragorn, anxiously as he helped Elysia furl the right wing to her body.

Elysia shook her head. "It is fine… It will just be sore for a few hours." Her wings felt bruised and she was certain the joints will ache. With a small groan, she began to force the wings into her back. They began to shrink, slowly with a little shudders, turning pale as they melded back into the skin. She grimaced as she straightened her back, hearing it crack in several places.

Meanwhile, the men were in yet another quarrel. Boromir began yelling to Gandalf, voice struggling against the storm, attempting to convince him to go through the gap of Rohan, against Aragorn's judgment. Gimli urged for the Mines of Moria.

Their options were limited, and time was short. Both roads sounded equally perilous to the dragon. Passing through the gap of Rohan took them too close to the white wizard and to the Gondorian lands. After seeing the hungry eyes of the Gondorian men who attended the council, she would not entrust the Ring to such territory. And Moria was full of secrets, secrets she dared not find answers to, and the thought of spending days within the dark caves was cringe worthy.

But the choice was not hers.

"Let the Ring bearer decide." Gandalf silenced them. The fellowship focused their attention on Frodo, who looked nervous.

"…. We will go through the mines." His eyes belied his voice's certainty.

Elysia bit her lip and felt dread rise within her. She wanted to change Frodo's mind, but there was little choice. What other option did they have?

So she swallowed her doubts and raised her head towards the sky to observe the storm.

What she sensed did not please her.

"Gandalf! We must find shelter! A blizzard is coming and it will soon be too hard to see!" There was a white out brewing, the temperatures were plummeting further.

"Can you not guide us?" Gandalf asked.

Elysia shook her head. "The hobbits will freeze to death at this rate. We should make for shelter in the eastern ravines of the pass."

"Elysia, you mean to take us to-"

"Yes…" Elysia cut the wizard off. "It is the safest place."

Gandalf stared at the dragon. "… Are you certain?" Was she certain she wanted to go _there_?"

"Ebrithil." Elysia stated gently. "We must go."

/

/

/

They waded through the snow, confused as the dragon and the wizard led them through a new route down the slopes of the mountain. There was a solemn air around the two, particularly the dragon. No one dared to break the silence. Even the hobbits did not utter a single word as they traversed through the icy terrain.

They soon entered a ravine concealed from the snowy paths. Squeezing through the ravine, they spotted a small gap in the ice and rock one would've easily missed if they didn't cast a second glance Gandalf raised his staff and smacked at the gap. The ice fell and crumbled, revealing a bigger gap of glazed, old ice.

The moment they stepped in, they were greeted with a cavernous domain that tunneled downward towards darker depths. They figured a small Oliphant would be able to fit in the mouth.

The walls were smooth but lumped with strange imperfections. Boromir touched the ice walls and frowned. "This ice was melted…" He commented at the frozen drips patterning the cavern's wall.

"Yes… We are in an ancient glacier." Elysia's voice was uncharacteristically soft and empty. They walked deeper into the ice cave's throat. Light refracted from the entrance, giving a frosty dim blue glow to their path down to the darker pits where the throat of the cave seemed to have swallowed all the darkness.

A shadow seemed to loom over the dragon as she walked further ahead, giving her a haunting edge. It grew darker the deeper they went. The tunnel seemed endless until finally, the dragon stopped. By now, it felt as though they were in the heart of the icy mountains.

They were barely able to make out the large ice den until Gandalf placed a crystal on his staff and blew it as if he were fanning embers. It began to glow, and Pippin and Merry released a yelp of surprise that echoed through the cave.

It dawned on them with the light, as to why the cave's room appeared odd in the dimness. For in the room, there rested a massive frozen dragon. Half of its body was melded in the perpetual ice of the wall, while the other half lay stiff, frozen, curled around the edge of the round room. Its dark emerald scales glittered with crystalline frost layering the jeweled surface.

The dragon was dead; it had been dead for a long time. There was a patch of dark staining its side where the blood had oozed before the cold froze it to a blackened, crimson ice. Its mouth was parted softly, as though it still was letting out its final breath, revealing dagger sharp teeth covered with ice.

It resembled Elysia's own form in many ways, but the head and the build was much stockier, and the antlers on the dragon's head were more grown, more developed, with its prongs protruding sharper like fine, lacquered branches of a white tree. Smaller horns traced its jawline that Elysia distinctly did not possess. They were broken, cracked, and rough, telling of a rough history. A wing was partially frozen on the roof, its corner adorned with a large icicle.

If the dragon was not odd enough, what laid in the center finished it all. There was a pile of pebbles and rocks lying in the middle. It was matted down like a nest of some sort, with shards of blue crystal scattered in its inner boundaries. The dragon, they now realized, appeared to have been hovering over it protectively.

"What is this place?" Boromir whispered. He asked the question the majority wondered.

Neither the dragon nor the wizard gave him an answer. Instead, the dragon slowly walked towards the center, stopping when her feet touched the rocky nest. They could not see her face, but none could deny the sorrow lining her slumped shoulders and narrow back.

"Sorrow slept here…." Legolas's said softly as he neared the lifeless green drake, palm open as though he wished to caress it but was hesitant, reluctant to disturb its eternal sleep.

There was a weighted silence. Despite being protected by the bitter air and sharp winds of the mountains, the fellowship felt a certain cold here that reached them deeper, gripping their hearts.

"Yes…" Her rough voice broke the silence. "Yes sorrow indeed did… _She_ slept here for over a thousand years in fact."

It was a voice echoed with a tenor that made their hearts ache. Frodo was confused as the rest, for this was a part of Elysia that she had never enlightened him with.

"Until the day the Gray Pilgrim came…." She finished.

They looked to the Istar. He wore a face of nostalgia, eyes distant as they focused on the young dragon.

Elysia knelt down and with gentle fingers, plucked a blue shard from the odd nest.

"This, steward of Gondor, will be our shelter." She finally answered Boromir's inquiry. The man almost sighed. That was not what he was asking, and she knew it. But her tone held finality.

/

/

The horse was content to stay in the hall of the ice tunnel, away from the dragon. The air was heavy with unspoken questions and sorrowful thoughts. The fellowship began to set up for camp in deathly silence. Packs rustled, pots, swords, and a shield clattered. The hobbits shivered and huddled with each other, gathering the furs and their cloaks closer to themselves to keep what warmth remained with them.

They were all cold. There was no wood to make a fire, much to their dismay. They all kept a distance from the frozen dragon, for it felt wrong and dishonorable, like sitting on a grave.

Elysia stared at the dragon head, still as a statue, deep in thought. They would have feared she was frozen if she had been covered in ice. Her stillness was eerie.

But one had the courage to near her, for he, like the others, could not deny the sorrow in the stoic dragon. He managed to see her eyes; anguish and longing filled them like a gray sky on a dull cloudy day.

"…. This drake was your friend." Legolas said, eyes gentle as they gazed down at the smaller figure. He was content to have her silent; merely attempting to ease her anguish with his presence, for her sadness was great. It pained the compassionate heart within him.

The dragon seemed so in tune to her thoughts, it had distracted her from continuing her task in avoiding the elf prince. However, he would prefer her dry avoidance rather than this melancholy.

He didn't mind her silence, but to his surprise, she answered him.

"… Not just a friend…. He was my brother. Born from a different sire but same dame, a generation older than I." The dim light draped a haunting shadow over her face.

"The halved bond in blood never deterred him though." She sighed. "His name was Vraiel, the Sunseeker, for he always sought to fly high and so near to the sun. His spirit was most apt to a sun. Always bright. Always of good cheer."

A wry smile curled her lips, never meeting her eyes. How she missed those bright green eyes

"M-Merry, I-I'm cold."

Pippin's whisper caught Elysia's attention. She turned and her forlorn stupor snapped at the sight of the Halflings shivering. Gandalf and the men appeared cold as well. They made a makeshift floor to separate them from the ice, using the furs from her kill, but it appeared to help little. Even the dwarf appeared to be hiding a small shiver, trying his best not to look affected by the plummeting temperature.

Elysia frowned and quickly set aside her weapons, the spell to protect her clothes was much easier to conjure when her load lessened. Legolas stared as she became a whirlwind of blue ghostly light, and soon there was a scaly blue dragon in the cave.

The fellowship quickly moved aside as the dragon began to precariously move around them, her claws and scales scraping against the ice before she set her long lithe frame down in a comfortable position.

Gandalf and Frodo were the first to move from the hesitant crowd. The wizard gently nudged the hobbit towards the dragon's ribcage, for it was the warmest area. The rest of the Halflings began to move hastily, following Frodo as he settled down and huddled to Elysia's great warmth. Merry couldn't help but release a soft sigh. It felt like they were leaning against a stone wall near the fire.

Elysia inhaled deeply and made a small hum in her chest. The hobbits felt a greater heat emanate from her scales.

Aragorn settled himself next to Gandalf against her midsection. Gimli sighed and began to take off his helmet before sitting near them. Legolas came as well, settled against near her hind leg. Boromir was still hesitant and far from the group gathering at the dragon. The drake cast a great eye at the steward and released a snort, almost as if she were exasperated.

Boromir was promptly pushed towards the group by her tail fin as it thwack at his back, urging him near.

When they all gathered, Elysia's great wing began to stretch over and the dragon became a makeshift tent. Warmth soon spread through the fellowship as she locked in the heat from her heart's fire. They marveled while Gandalf set his illuminated staff gently atop of the rocky pile. He pulled out his pipe and began to smoke quietly. The smell of pipeweed appeared to ease the fellowship, lulling them into comfort.

But there were still questions, questions that needed answering.

Frodo stared at the pebbled nest, picking up a cold pebble from the edge touching his foot.

"… What happened here, Elly?" He asked softly. "What happened to you?"

The dragon, who had her eyes closed, opened them with a _snick_ and rounded a great stormy iris upon the hobbit. It then moved to Gandalf, who set down his pipe with mournful eyes.

"Perhaps…" He began softly. "It is time for them to know… What had happened in _Du Fyrn Abr Domia_…"

The dragon's eye lingered on the wizard. Then she sighed, and the eye closed. Her head shifted up and she spoke in her melodious low tenor.

"This is where I became the Istari's apprentice, little one…."

No one moved, and no one spoke. They waited for the dragon to continue.

Elysia merely stared at the center, lost in thought as she continued wistfully.

"… This is where Mithrandir found me."

/

Her voice was so old, so tired, so full of memories, it made Legolas feel like an elfling. He could not understand why it was affecting him so, but her voice, her eyes, this _place_, it was breaking his own heart. Perhaps it was because he was so close to her side, the closest he had been in a long time and never thought he'd ever be, not again after she departed from him all those years ago.

It had all been so confusing then. It happened so quickly, Legolas had been dazed, numb, and so terribly confused. But he could not find the clarity he sought, the clarity he _needed_ in his Woodland realm. Not even Tauriel could help him. In fact, something changed between them that day, as though Tauriel wished to help, as though she had the ability to help, but no matter how desperately she wished she could, she wouldn't.

He had felt so… _lost_. Drowned with some sort of wanderlust to find something he could not define but only knew was important to him.

But being here, in her company, seeing her in Rivendell, it had all vanished. Like the grey clouds had cleared, and for the first time Legolas felt as though he saw the stars beyond the clouds he lost sight of long ago.

She was telling a story now, a story they all wanted to hear, a story he _needed _to hear. Her voice reeled her into a realm of past thoughts and old memories.

"I was born in the Second Age of Arda. However, dragon eggs will hatch upon random. Some awaken naught but a day after they are laid, and some take years, centuries even. But we still hold memories in the egg…. I hatched after twenty five winters, during the year of Isildur's birth."

_ He could imagine it in remarkable clarity; the dark, murky, wetness inside the blue shell, the muffled voices and low croons of a loving voice from the world outside. _

"I was born into a darkening time. Still… there was always light in my beginning for I was born upon an eerie high in the peaks of a mountain hidden in the north, away from Middle Earth, where the darkness did not seem to reach us."

_A sky so full of stars no amount of treasure in the earth could really compare. A world so surreal it could be seen as a garden of Mandos. _

"I was born into a highly respected clan. We were dragons of the storm, the drakes of the heavens, the masters of flight, wielders of lightning. Since birth, hatchlings of the Eyrie are exposed to the might and fury of the sky and its tempest, and we learn to befriend it and bear it as our own fury."

_The currents were without mercy. They howled and shrieked in a song of might, but the key was not in fighting the current. It was to simply join it, ride it, and let it carry you. Use everything else but sight to be your guide. Hear the song of the wind, the melody in the rain, and feel the cloud beckoning you to be free._

_ "_My mother was a proud dragon. She was deemed the fairest of the clan and self-proclaimed as the fairest of all dragons. Saphira Bjartskular, they called her… Brightscales; an honorable title for a fearsome drake. When I awoke upon the Eyrie, I was deemed the bastard daughter, for while dragons can mate with several different dragons and sire many half-related offspring, the sires were always known to their kin. It brought no shame upon our dames to have different mates in different times."

_They say it is better to be feared than to be loved, but he felt both, as did the rest of them when they gazed upon those blue eyes richer than the deepest, clearest sea. _

_ "_But my birth was unanticipated… For my mother told not a single soul of who sired me. So it was rumored I bore the blood of a dishonorable dragon, whose name was not worth mentioning. Perhaps he was a dragon that had fallen to the taint long ago. I know not…

It did not hamper my mother. She raised me to be strong, resilient, and proud as a dragon should be. I grew and played with the others who wished to play with me, but Vraiel was my most beloved friend, born by my mother and a different sire before my time. Despite my vague origins, nothing deterred me or discouraged me. I was proud to be a part of my clan, and we thought ourselves invisible to the growing evil that shadowed the lands and began enslaving some of our kind… Some called us arrogant for that…

Our Eyrie was untouchable… Or so we believed."

Marvel stirred in the elf. Her voice was hypnotic. She was gifted in the art of story-telling, surely the others felt it too, the way she wove pictures, images, recollections so vivid and real that it wielded time and held a mirror to those very days in her youth.

"We call Sauron "Wyrdfell" in the ancient tongue, for it means Forsworn... And everything changed when Sundav Wyrdfell, the Forsworn Shadow, came… For, as the shadow came upon our race, so began The War of Dominance, and it began in the very place drakes thought to be invulnerable.

He came in a storm of ash and flame; a suffocating storm of evil that even the Dragons of the Storm could not withstand and control. He came with an army of demons we once called friends and family."

_ The ground felt moist but the air was dry, thick with choking smoke and the sickly smell of iron. Thunderclouds could not deafen the symphony of war. Hope was nowhere to be found. _

_This wasn't war… _

_This was purgatory._

Why did she continue this tale? _How_ could she continue it? He couldn't fathom the courage it took for her to share such horrors with them with such sober calm. Legolas watched her; he searched those greyed eyes for the despair he could only imagine she felt as she told them her story. How could she not falter speaking of this? Did dragons not weep so willingly to things that deserved every ounce of their tears?

"The Forsworn came to "convert" us to his glory, but we were hunted. We were defiled, stripped of the will of fire that made us who we were, twisted into the nightmares of other races."

_They were whipped, chained, and caged. A hunter of the sky did not deserve this… some were being peeled of their scales._

"The greatest crime amongst our kin is to kill or thief a hatchling, and the day he came, Sauron committed a massacre of my clan. Eggs were shattered, dragons were slain or chained. The War of Dominance began with the downfall of the Storm Drakes. From there, it spread far and wide. To the northern serpents of fire, the western tides, the southern realms… No one was safe.

To this day, it remains a war that strikes great nightmares into the heart of veterans, for they were forced to fight their own kin. Many were killed in great remorse, and many were driven to madness by the loss. They soon followed their loved ones into death, murdered by their grief.

The Eyrie in the Heavens, the home I prided and loved, became Ristvak'baen… The Place of Sorrow. The storm dragons dwindled into a dying legacy."

_Black and barren, lonesome and lost, this place so close to the heavens was a shattered graveyard of bones and dust. It was an irony of bitter blood. _

The little ones were teary eyed and uncharacteristically silent, even the Took. No one dared interrupt the tale, not even to wipe away a stray tear. Elysia appeared too engrossed in her tale to see the grief, her own gaze distant and glassy.

"I saw him that day. With my very own eyes, I saw the Forsworn; tall and terrible, dark and powerful, with malcontent so great and suffocating that even the most courageous could not deny their fear. The only light from his darkness was that Ring. It gleamed, mocking the murder and agony of my people."

_A sight that would fell the bravest of elves, each step the dark lord took crushed any will to fight… to hope. But there is always hope…_

"In her last desperate act of great defiance and love, my mother casted us from cliff of the Eyrie, Vraiel and I. She commanded Vraiel to look after me, for I was still too young to combat the great hurricane shrouding our home. It had happened so quickly, but I will never forget the dying light in my mother's eyes as she told us to go."

_She gave little imagery of her mother, yet he could see her clearly. With scales of luster that matched Elysia's very own splendor but with blued eyes. Those eyes were starting to fade. The light was leaving them. Her mother's blood colored her world red. _

"We escaped, but we were not safe." Elysia closed her eyes, the pain of recollecting evident on her scaled features. So fierce and feral she appeared in this form, yet so heart-wrenchingly expressive.

"They came after the rest of us, like hawks hunting the sparrow. Vraiel and I lived in fear for many moons. Eventually our luck ran dry and we were captured, caged, and I thought it was the end… but alas we managed to do the impossible and escape… But not unscathed."

_The true world was so cruel. It was so bleak. So dark. But still, she begged for mercy, even though she knew there was none. She prayed with all her might…_

_Just once let the truth be a terrible lie… and let this lie be a beautiful truth._

"I knew he was dying, and he knew it, but we did not say a word of it. He brought me here to these mountains, and made a cave. He knew I hated the confined space but the light leaking through the fine ice and the glow of his scales comforted me.

Vraiel told me to sleep, to close my eyes and not to open them until he woke me, but he never did. I slept, for I was exhausted, and Vraiel must have induced me to hibernate. With the cold and the magic of my sleep, time began to hasten around me. Days passed… months… years…"

The cave felt even colder, even more dismal now that they knew of its origins. Legolas could not bear to look into those eyes any longer, so he stared at the forgotten nest of rocks, broken blue crystals, and Mithrandir's light.

"Then the Gray Pilgrim found me. He stood there with his bushy brows, long beard, and pointy hat, staring at me when I opened my eyes. At first I feared him, but then he simply smiled." Elysia chuckled. It was so sudden and so starkly different from her somber mood not few moments before that they wondered if her mind had been drove to a bit of madness by her past.

"It was odd… how much a single, wrinkled smile could bring me such joy that I thought myself dead. Tis the simply things in life, I suppose." She mused offhandedly, before returning to her main story. "He then gave me a gently pat… I had been so surprised; I had not the heat to bite at that hand. In any other moment, I would have, but it was the first warm touch I felt since centuries passed.

'Hello my dear little dragon…' He said. 'I am here to ask for your company.' It was something so simple and random, but it made me happy. I felt so happy and thrilled…."

The dragon's mirth diminished into a smile so bittersweet, it was painful. She was coming to the end of her story, and he did not know whether to be gladdened or in mourning. Why did this tale anguish him so?

"I turned to Vraiel, to share the good news, to celebrate with him…. But he had already passed, leaving nothing but a frozen shell of scales behind. The joy I felt before faded so quickly. It felt as though my heart's fire had been put out by a cruel sea of ice. I grieved and grieved, screaming at him to awaken, terrified that I was left on my own without the comfort of a single kin."

Why was it that he could _see_ so _vividly _the moments of her despair and her memories?

_She was the last. She couldn't be. Not after everything…_

No… He wanted to reach out into the memory, into the image in his mind of a small dragon with the eyes of a haunted soul.

_But she was… There was no one else left. No one free… No one… They had left her and went to a place so high, even if she had the strength, she would never be able to fly to them; she would only be able to gaze upon them in the stars, forever waiting, forever longing, until she breathed her last breath in this world. _

_She was alone… Cursed to dwell in a world that despised her kind… The remnant of lost clan._

_Alone… _

Legolas fought the urge to shudder at the devastating thought. How painful must it have been? To no longer have the company of one of your own? It unsettled his old heart to think of his own realm, his friends, his father, all gone, with not a single leaf or tree left behind of them.

Elysia's voice brought him out of his melancholy. She was nearly done with her tale.

"The old gray stranger waited until I could no longer weep. Until I waited there in silence, waiting for him to leave me as well… But then he knelt down by my fallen side and forced me to look upon him with a gentle hand. With the kindest eyes I've ever seen, he spoke to me.

'I guess it is just us… Unless you no longer wish for my company…?'

He gave me a choice, the first being to do so after so long. And I did choose. I became Mithrandir's apprentice…"

Elysia opened her eyes, observing their somber faces, startled to find some teary. But what surprised her most of all was the elf. Legolas appeared as though her pain was his own. While her tale was rather tragic, this was not the drastic reaction she anticipated. He appeared so stricken with grief, it unsettled her. How could he bear such empathy that her pain seemed to be his own?

_Unless…. No… No it's impossible. _She quelled the possibility with fervor.

There was a lapse of silence. The hobbits wiped their eyes. Frodo blinked back tears. Even the warriors appeared anguished. But Gandalf smiled, albeit his eyes were glassy, as he stared at the dragon.

"Oh… fantastic, I have made you weepy." Elysia sighed, mildly exasperated. Such blatant displays of compassionate sorrow never sat well with the dragon. Drakes were not so expressive of what grieved them; especially not through tears. They grieved in quiet songs, dances, fires, and silent flights.

Boromir stared at his crossed feet, eyes downcast with sorrow. "It is a tragic tale… A tragedy that would make anyone weep."

"Tragedy?" Elysia blinked. "While it has some tragic portions, I would not call my tale a tragedy in its entirety."

They gazed at the dragon as she tilted her head in thought.

"There was a happy ending, was there not? And this story is about my life… And my life certainly did not end there." She nudged the hobbits gently.

"My life has yet to come to any end, and thus this story has not yet ended, and you Halflings of all folks should know that there was certainly happiness in my life…. I've made my fair share of mistakes, of unwise decisions in walking dark paths, but alas… I have also been granted joys. I have been granted adventures. Twas a life full of trials and surprises and it still is."

Gandalf smiled at her rare moment of optimism.

"Unless I am as lousy a storyteller as a liar…" She mused halfheartedly. "I merely wanted to distract you from the cold, but it appears I have chilled your hearts."

Merry shook his head. "These are tears of _joy_! We're crying because the story was so beautiful!"

The dragon snorted at this and huffed. "You creatures are so sentimental… It is no wonder we dragons prefer not to mingle with the Free People."

The cave was darkening as night began to fall, but strangely, the mood lightened. Weight in their hearts wre lifted as Elysia rested her head back onto the floor and rumbled.

"Now sleep… I will wake you when the storm calms."

The tired fellowship relented, all except for the elf for he did not need sleep like the others, and the steward as well, for something seemed to trouble his mind. The steward looked up after a moment of brooding and gazed at the dragon head across the tent.

"… Faramir, my brother, is never going to believe this." He mused softly.

"Perhaps he will if I pin him as I did to you." There was no real bite in her remark.

Boromir chuckled halfheartedly at the thought of his brother's face if Elysia pounced on him like a blue scaly cat. He then sobered and sighed. "Our kind… The Free People are so wrong about you and your kin. My brother and I used to run around the halls, pretending he was slaying dragons… Now I think of it and…" He felt ashamed, unable to finish.

Elysia flicked out a wide and flat forked tongue. "If it comforts your conscious…. Many dragons have eaten men."

Boromir blanched at this and Elysia snorted softly. "But they tended not to after they discovered how tedious it was to digest all that clothing or pick at the chainmail and armor stuck in their teeth. Leather and chainmail can give terrible indigestion."

Boromir shuddered at the disturbing thought, but upon seeing the mirth twinkle in her silver eye, he shook his head with a soft smile. Soon he made himself comfortable; shutting his eyes and began to sleep.

Within a short hour, the cave fell silent. Gandalf dimmed his crystal light to the faint brightness of a distant moon before falling to slumber.

The elf and the dragon stayed awake in their silence. It grew a little discomforting for the dragon. Elysia did not know what ailed the elf, but something seemed to bother him to a rather disturbing degree. Those luminescent eyes of his were more piercing than usual and strangely grim. They were staring at the pebble nest before they flitted up to scrutinize her again.

She ignored the heat stirred from his chiseling gaze and promptly turned her eyes forward. The sight of Vraiel's frozen head did not pain her as it once did, but she did not wish to sleep. She didn't trust her subconscious to refrain from stirring nightmares through her recollections.

/

/

~O~O~O~O~O~

Elysia gave a grunt as she stretched her back. As she anticipated, her back was sore from the incident on the cliff. It gave her great cheer when they exited the cage to a bright morning light. The storm had passed, leaving a smooth, poufy blanket of snow that reflected the sunlight. It was a beautiful sight, and the air was so crisp it eased Elysia's longing to exercise her flight.

But the mood of the fellowship did not appear to be as equally high as her spirits. They tread the beautiful snow with little thought to the beauty that Elysia saw. Their oblivious sobriety made her want to groan. Did they not see the sun's light splitting into a multitude of splendid colors in the snow? Could they not feel the gentle breeze? The winds were favoring them and the sun was greeting their morning.

How ironic. The rare moment when she is in a chipper mood, these men were being flesh sacks of misery. Even the elf, who usually was ever-so-tireless and tranquilly cheery mood, strode atop the snow with a subdued look.

This would not do.

Something was brewing in Elysia's mind but Merry and Pippin did not know what. She was pacing herself to fall back behind them with a twinkle of mirth in her eyes, though her face remained stoic.

There was the sound of shuffling snow. Then a streak of white flew through the air.

And struck the back of Aragorn's head.

The ranger immediately twisted his body, hand on his sword. His alert glare quickly morphed into a look of indignation as he felt the cold snow melt on his hair. With a grimace, he shook the remains of the chilly white substance and proceeded to search the people behind him with silent accusations.

Merry and Pippin turned over their shoulder, confused. Their flummoxed expressions soon became aghast when a far too nonchalant Elysia pointed towards Merry.

Aragorn was hardly fooled. He narrowed his eyes and flared his nose in warning before turning back with a much harsher step in his stride.

"Fool, he should not turn his back on a dragon." Merry and Pippin barely heard Elysia mutter. Then the dragon pinned them with a pointed glance.

Merry looked to Pippin. Pippin looked to Merry.

Then they hastily began gathering snow into their hands.

Pippin was done quicker than Merry with his snowball. With the eagerness of a mischievous hobbit, he made a well-aimed throw directly at the ranger's head.

But Aragorn would not be fooled twice. Without turning back, the Dunedain ducked with the agility of an experienced ranger of the North. Unfortunately, his duck caused the snowball to hit the person in front of him.

Boromir was a bit more vocal with his surprise as the snow struck his neck. The Gondorian turned to find the culprit, only for Pippin to cowardly point to Merry out of habit. Merry did not bother to look scandalized and merely threw his own snowball at the steward. The steward dodged the incoming missile, clearing its path straight to the back of Gandalf's head.

Both Pippin and Merry froze in horror when the wizard stopped their line, and whipped back to pin them with the most wrathful of glares.

To which Merry could only respond by pointing at Elysia, earning a traitorous look from the dragon.

Frodo, who had wedged himself between Aragorn and Sam, began to smile and gathered a messy clump of snow at his feet. He chucked it at Elysia, but the dragon swiftly dodged, causing the snowball to meet its unfortunate end squarely in Gimli's face.

The mischievous hobbits chortled and Frodo's giggle turned into a boisterous laugh as Gimli sputtered, bits of snow stuck in his beard.

"Wha-, what in Durin's-"

The dragon cracked a wicked smile, and as if on cue, Merry and Pippin began hurling handfuls upon handfuls of balled snow they hastily prepared at all those they could target.

"For the Shire!" Pippin roared his outrageous battle-cry.

Merry pelleted Aragorn's head. "Down with the monarchy!"

It erupted a full-fledged battle with freshly fallen snow. Boromir promptly used his Gondorian shield to defend himself from the relentless icy reign, while Aragorn began to gather his artillery with swift, concise hands. To Elysia's surprise, Gandalf joined the fray, having turned around once more with generously packed snowballs she half wondered if he gathered them by magic trickery. Sam was using a frying pan in a feeble attempt to shield himself from the onslaught while Frodo joined Pippin and Merry for an alliance… until he promptly shoved snow in both of their faces.

There were no sides, no alliances made, it was a battle royale, but there appeared to be hidden vendettas.

Legolas had been startled by the sudden fight, too deep in his own thoughts. He had paid the price for his sudden ignorance. A snowball struck the unsuspecting elf's face as Gimli used the commotion to achieve his own vengeance. The blow nearly sent the elf teetering into a fall, but Legolas refused to be bested by a snowball from a _dwarf_, he was an elven warrior. There would be no such blasphemy.

He regained his balance and quickly swayed left and right, dancing out of the way of ballistic snowballs. Twisting and turning, he gathered his own arsenal and threw a snowball at the dwarf so hard; the dwarf's helmet nearly fell from his hairy head.

Elysia snickered, but she was not spared. To her surprise, something cold and wet struck the side of her face soon after. Wide almond shaped eyes quickly narrowed into a predatory glare. The elf hardly appeared repentant or wary as the said glare lashed towards him,

but dragons were vindictive creatures.

When he dodged her furious onslaughts, it only riled her. Casting her previous conviction to keep away from the elf, Elysia lunged forward in a flurry of fiery magic.

Legolas' smug smile immediately faded and he made a quick footed leap out of the dragon's trajectory. There was a flurry of snow, scales, and wings as the dragon delved deep into the snow with no elf in her clawed grasp. However, Elysia would not be won.

With a swish of her tail, Elysia swiped the elf off his feet and promptly buried him with a heave of her body. Gimli and the hobbits roared in laughter while Aragorn began digging Legolas free from his early snowy grave.

Elysia preened her wings, basking in her victory until something hard struck the side of her head. With a warbling grunt, she glared at the culprit, only to spot a wizard and his staff wearing a scolding expression.

"What did I say about shifting in dire situations?"

Elysia gave a snort and with a tilt of her head, she poured her stacked snow onto the wizard's hat before shifting back into her two legged form.

"The vengeance of a dragon is most dire, Ebrithil!" She cried in mock indignation.

"Insolent drake…." But the deed was done, and Gandalf was hardly as miffed as he seemed while clearing his hat of snow.

The fellowship departed the mountains with boosted morale quickening their steps, and the dragon was satisfied with her work the moment Frodo laughed. Her little one had appeared too melancholic as of late, and it did not sit well with her.

With one final look at the snowy peaks, Elysia followed the fellowship to the path towards the Mines. Someday, when there was peace, when time was a luxury, she would return and give her brother the proper burial he deserved.

_Wait a little longer, Vraiel. I promise to visit you once more…_

Her heart stirred with warmth. The sun seemed to burn brighter onto her back. She could imagine Vraiel's pleased hum as his spirit watched the last of their proud clan depart from the mountains.

* * *

><p>Read and review please! It helps in motivating my old soul in posting more chapters!<p>

On another note, there's been another story brewing in my mind. A crossover between two Pixar movies... But alas, I should finish this story before starting on the other one.

-Mana


	12. Chapter 12

My apologies for the very late update. Spring time is the busiest season for me with exams here and there (EVERYWHEEEEERE).

I'm also considered getting a "beta". Although I've never really thought about getting one before, not because I think my writing is perfect (Good Lord NO, it has much room for improvement, hence I am writing on this site), but I honestly just don't know the process of getting a beta and was rather wary about it.

In the end, I'll decide later on. Meanwhile, I hope you enjoy this story regardless of whether or not it has a beta.

-With sincerity, Mana

Disclaimer: I don't own LOTR

* * *

><p>Chapter 12<p>

_When it came to their being, dragons cherished many things: from their scales to their teeth to every claw and their forked tongue, dragons prided themselves in their physique. _

_ Above all, however, they put the greatest value in what dwelled in their heart. _

_ They were immortal beings, unaffected by time's erosive nature, a trait shared with the elves. They were not impervious to death, but trickery existed within the nature of the dragon, to deceive death in a certain way. _

_ What made a man a man? A dwarf a dwarf? An elf an elf? A hobbit a hobbit? _

_ Was it their countenance? Their nature? Their abilities?_

_ It was none of these. What made these folk people and not animals were their __**souls**__. _

_ It was the soul, the "fea" within their body that gave them identity and life… And a dragon had a way of "cheating" death by allowing it to take their body… but not their soul; by maintaining an existence through a single part of themselves known as their heart of hearts._

_ Legends were told in the far east, of great serpentine dragons who held sacrosanct orbs of stone in their forepaws, jewels that seemed far too smooth, too perfect to be something fabricated by the natural earth or by craft. But it was no jewel or treasure born from the depths of a rich mountain ore, _

_But from the dragon's core._

_ The Eldunari, the dragonstone, a heart of hearts, an organ of stone made to protect the soul of a dragon should their body perish. All dragons are born with an Eldunari, and as long as it exists, the dragon's soul shall live on to dwell in the earthly realm._

_However, that choice was up to the dragon. It was within their power to decide the fate of their eldunari so long as it was within their hold. Whether it is to break it, part from it before death, or even bequeath it..._

_It seemed to be such a gift, a great ability, a treasured benefit to have something as a physical container for their soul such as the eldunari. But some blessings are curses in disguise._

_A mark can be considered a brand. A strength can become a great burden. _

_A container… can also be a prison. _

_Should a dragon's body perish, as long as their eldunari exists, unbroken, the dragon's spirit shall remain within it. They will remain there, trapped in the darkness of their own consciousness, beneath the hard shell of their jeweled core; without sunlight, without stars, with nothing but themselves…_

_No matter how much they wish for death to liberate, no matter how fiercely they struggle, they cannot escape the cage of their eldunari without the aid of another. _

_Dragons were never meant to be in cages…_

_/_

O~O~O~O~O~

/

She listened contently as Frodo attempted to explain the concept of the ancient language to Sam. It baffled those of the fellowship when they were informed that one could not lie in the draconian tongue.

"But I can just say no." Merry frowned, listening intently now.

Elysia sighed. "Very well, try to lie, Merry, _**do you know Frodo**_?"

Merry licked his lips. _**"I…"**_ He faltered and bit his lips. _**"I…. do." **_When the words spilled from his mouth, Elysia smirked and Merry appeared frustrated but then it morphed into fascination. Pippin nudged him.

"So you can't? What's it like?"

"It's like trying to talk with your tongue stuck to the roof." Merry opened his mouth wide and began to stretch his tongue, it was an odd look. "It isn't normal!"

"Magic is not of the normal, Merriadoc. Even we cannot define it." Elysia explained. "A dragon cannot lie to another dragon. Odd, is it not? For some of us are capable of enchanting our foes with a dragon-spell, bringing doubt into a weak victim's hearts and filling their head with lies."

"Can you do it?" Aragorn asked. Elysia shook her head and glanced pointedly to Frodo. The hobbit gave a small smile.

"Elly is a lousy liar." He admitted.

"Different dragons do different things with their dragon spell… In truth, it is more of a defense born into us to help us fend off foes when we are young and vulnerable. In the heart of the dragon-spell, it invokes fear into our foes, and fear brings mistrust and doubt. When the foe is unsteady," She flicked Pippin in the forehead, earning a light yelp. "That is when we strike."

"I can invoke fear, but I've never been well versed in stirring deception." She confessed.

"Do you speak truths to your foes?" Boromir inquired, fascinated. "Or is it your threats then?"

Elysia blinked. She regarded Boromir innocently for a moment. Then she curved her lips into a feral smirk. Her rounded pupils sharpened into slits while the silver of her eyes widened, donning her with a rather psychotic expression. Boromir felt it immediately. His heartbeat began to quicken in anxiety while his palms felt clammy with sweat. It was an unshakable sense of dread.

"No, I simply stare." She quickly diminished her gaze, mildly impressed with herself. She'd never quite gotten her dragon-spell to work quite right, even after all these years.

Boromir did not seem to be of faint heart, but he gave a small shudder. "Unnaturally true, I say."

"Be not wounded in pride, Boromir. You fared better than many who have encountered the dragon-spell." Elysia encouraged. "I've had a hare die of fright on me once. Often times, Mithrandir found it difficult to have me accompany him to towns because of it. The sheltered folk of small towns were quick to point fingers at a wizard when their livestock and hounds became severely unsettled."

"Indeed." Gandalf agreed up in front, recalling with a sense of bittersweet exasperation at how troublesome the efforts of handling a young drake had been..

"Frodo, come and help an old man." He beckoned Frodo away from the conversation. It was subtle, and nothing that seemed out of the ordinary. However, none knew Gandalf quite as well as the dragon did.

Elysia glanced at the wizard curiously. While Gandalf was indeed old, he was hardly of feeble health. Why did he wish to talk to her little one in privacy?

The sudden urge of distrust and offense within herself surprised her. She never doubted her old teacher to mistrust him so swiftly. Perhaps it was because of their destination. The closer they came to Moria, the more subdued Elysia felt. Long ago, she had positioned ravens and owls to keep watch of the mines when Balin gathered a large company of dwarves to explore Durin's lost realm. In a few years, there was positive news of their exploration, but after some time, the mines had fallen silent entirely.

Perhaps it was simply her paranoia. As of late, dwarves tended to keep more to their rocks than anything else.

They arrived before the walls of Moria, and Elysia raked the mountain from top to bottom with a keen scrutiny. The mountain felt gloomier than Orthanc, and the smell… She scowled in displeasure at the water. The water smelled odd, poisoned with the scent something that smelled much like an old, rotting carcass. She wrinkled her nose and began to pace along the shore of the murky water, restless from the strange stench. It made her scale itch with discomfort, and so when Gandalf begrudgingly confessed he was unable to open the gates of Moria, Elysia was not pleased. It didn't sit well with her to dwell so closely to such dark waters.

/

/

Gandalf mused about the moonlit gates, stating the doors were so well hidden that even the master dwarves had trouble; Legolas was hardly surprised by this. Leave it to dwarves to have rocks in their heads. They can't even remember where their own doors are. To the dismay of the group, Gandalf was unsuccessful in opening the gate. The wizard huffed in irritation and began to mutter and smoke, pondering upon the problem. The elf did not worry. Time and time again, Gandalf proved to make ways for people in one way or another in the past. In the meantime, the others began to set up a small, quick campsite.

The elf adopted his unspoken task of keeping watch, allowing his mortal companions to recuperate from their long travels. He then noticed there were only nine present near the camp. One was missing from their nine.

It never took him long to spot the dragon. One would have to be blind to not see her presence, albeit many, to his surprise, never seemed to notice. Granted the maiden bore uncanny stealth, much like a prowling cat, but there was something about her fierce demeanor that demanded his attention.

The said maiden appeared to be standing afar, eyes focused on the water with a mild scowl upon her lips. Her face told of troubles he doubted she would divulge him with.

The thought suddenly gave him the urge to sigh. An ongoing sense of gloom and dismay began to rise within him.

The woman had been avoiding him ever since he arrived in Rivendell. He had thought perhaps she was still unreasonably upset with him, but she did not seem that way. He wasn't sure. Did dragons hold petty grudges for prolonged amounts of time? Was it not a petty grudge to her? Their history may have been tangled with perils much like a spider's nest, but by the end did they not conclude on peaceful terms?

_Alas, we hardly concluded at all…_

Legolas would not admit it openly, but he also could not deny in his heart that he was yearning for a more amicable relationship with her. The desire grew with each day she remained distant, each moment she acted oblivious to his approach.

It was… infuriating, and Legolas was startled by his own sudden intolerance. He was no uncouth, impatient youth. He had hundreds of years in experience. Yet, this indomitable drake made him feel oddly… clueless… inadequate even.

She was even on friendlier terms with _Boromir_ whom she began to call "stubborn steward" along the journey. If he were shrewd, Legolas would've rolled his eyes and scoffed at the endearment. "Bigoted" was more appropriate. Furthermore the dragon didn't cease to wound his dignity when she initiated a conversation with the dwarf before any others, then she proceeded to (unaware of her own actions) tread on him with her growing friendship with the steward. Had she not had distaste in the race of Men? Or did those times since Erebor change her?

After she unveiled to them her origins, the light in which he saw her changed although he had always known of her coveted secret. In his knowing, he had always thought her mainly to be volatile, fierce, proud, impatient, and unapproachable. Perhaps it was because his first impression of her had been on less civil tongues, but even then…

Her tongue was too sharp to be becoming of a refined lady. Her behavior was wild and at times inconsiderate of the dignity of others. A cooled countenance that lashed out like fire, she was a bizarre oxymoron.

Till the day she departed, she was all of those things. Even now she remained to be a paradox that poked at his pacific nature. So why did it matter to him?

Perhaps it was because he began to see her loosen her shields and unravel more qualities of herself she guarded fiercely from him; for she was also loyal, honest, and her wit had him laughing to himself quite often when others did not notice.

But, alas, she showed none of these to _him_, he observed this through her interactions with everyone _but him_. He saw how gentle she was with the Halflings and how she teased Aragorn enough to make the tense ranger laugh. How she spoke her mind with rare shows of wisdom making him feel _young_. How she gazed at the stars with such heavy, unspoken thoughts that he wished he could hear just to _understand_ the way her mental cogwheels turned.

The inelegance between the two graceful beings did not go unnoticed by the fellowship. Elysia seemed to twitch or freeze whenever Legolas stood close or when she heard his voice, and her response to him tended to be curt and a little strained. Even Gandalf found it strange. Without a doubt, the wizard would confront the dragon about it soon. Frodo appeared more amused than confused. Perhaps she had told the hobbit of what occurred between them or perhaps he found the uncharacteristic twitchiness of his dragon humorous.

The first encounter between the two had been rather uncouth, and even then, one could say with some certainty, their relationship plummeted further into many misfortunes…

Determined to set things right, Legolas walked up to her with all the stealth of his kind. He stood next to her and stared at the dark waters.

"Something is troubling you, milady?" Her stiffening and the little twitch of her finger did not go unnoticed, for the elf was also very keen.

"… Yes. It smells odd." She admitted curtly. This elf had the tendency to ask obvious questions. Elysia did not know whether to be amused or irked. She most desperately wished to give him a rather dry retort, but that meant speaking with him further and encouraging some sort of verbal spar.

The Valar knows they had enough of those in the past.

Legolas could hold in the sigh no longer. Perhaps it was best to be straightforward with this dragon.

"Have I displeased you, Lady Elysia?"

Elysia whipped her head around so abruptly, her braid whipping around to the other side of her neck. "What?"

"It seems as though I have done something to deserve your… apathy." Legolas stated carefully, gazing at her earnestly. "Tis a _something_ that I have little clue as to what it is."

The dragon blinked and blinked, her mouth moved and twisted as if she sought to find the right words. Biting her lip, she turned away from those sincere crystalline blue pools, remaining quiet.

She did not see the frown growing upon the fair elf's lips. She was always making his cheerful disposition falter. Always in the fellowship, he was the tireless elf with the quiet air of content, but at the right time, like a quick shot of his bow, he could turn serious when necessary, for the elves of Mirkwood were fierce.

But this was no battle… This was a socially impaired situation. It was almost juvenile.

"We have not spoken or met since that time in Mirkwood." He noticed her stiffen further and released another sigh. "If what happened then still upsets you, please I beg your pardon again… I did not think dragons would bear a grudge for so long." He was being petty, in his own way. He knew his words, when carefully spoken, would not initially sound insulting, but they bore intentional accusations that would certainly rile her. The dragon had left him little option than to use this tactic of diplomacy and debate, prodding at her pride.

"I bear nothing of the sort." She was unable to hold back her snide glance. "I am no Thorin Oakenshield."

Legolas fought back a smile. Thorin Oakenshield indeed knew how to bear a passionate grudge. "Then?" He pressed. "I am at a loss for what to do, Lady Elysia. You do not talk to me, nor do you acknowledge my presence unless you must, you seem to avoid even _looking_ at me."

Elysia suddenly turned her head and faced him fully. She was forced to look up, for the elf was over a good head taller than her. Legolas stared at those grayed blue orbs. She wore an unreadable face.

After her obvious long stare, she turned back to the water.

There was a pause… Then realizing what she had done, Legolas raised a brow at her.

"That was infantile, Lady Elysia." He deadpanned as gracefully as he could.

"I am older than you, Prince of Mirkwood."

"Yet you act younger." He rebutted.

"Bah!" She gazed up at the sky and huffed and bit her lip, now glaring back at the water. "Now you resent me for not paying enough attention to your pretty face, princeling?" She snidely remarked. "There is no pleasing the elves of the Woodland Realm."

Now the elf looked confused. He tilted his head. "I have never resented you.… And my adar is actually rather fond of you. He speaks of you with respect."

"Does he?" Elysia frowned, genuinely surprised. "Well, that is a relief."

Legolas nodded, pleased that he had her distracted from her original intentions.

"You regard my father better than you regard me, Lady dragon." He sounded a little off. Now Elysia could no longer avoid looking at those eyes. She whipped her head and stared at him with a quirked eyebrow.

"Are you… Are you sulking?" Elysia inquired in disbelief. Legolas gazed evenly at her.

"... I cannot deny I am a little upset. You seem to resent me." He confessed. It would do him no good to lie to the dragon.

"I do not resent you."

"Then why are you treating me as though I hail from a nest of spiders?" Elysia blanched at the mentioning of the arachnids. _Ah, so she still has an immense fear of spiders._ On any other day he might have found this amusing.

"Why would I ever resent you?" He pressed. This dragon was so full of riddles; even an elf who enjoyed a good riddle could not fathom it. Why would he resent her when she had done pivotal things for his kingdom, his family, and his friend? To this day, she remained to be one of the few people Tauriel spoke of with immense admiration and affection. Albeit not all of the Mirkwood elves have been pleased with her. Many were still insulted by the 'desecration and havoc' she created in the halls and the woods of their beloved realm.

The composed elf sounded so exasperated. Elysia bit her lip again and curled a loose hair behind her ear, averting her gaze.

Legolas searched the dragon briefly before responding.

"Is it because you burned my hair?" He inquired lightly. It was a simple jibe, but now the elf was not above peeving her so.

His words did their task. Elysia promptly glared back. "I saved you from that fire, you ungrateful woodland elf!"

"May I remind you, the fire was your doing?" He countered, unabashed in the slightest by her insult.

"There were _spiders_." She argued, shuddering to herself.

"You burned a part of my adar's realm." He made his voice grave. "To this day, our woods bear the scorched memoir of your dragon fire." That was a partial lie. The charred remnants of Elysia's unintended destruction had actually benefited the forest to growing newer greens. Though there were still some hideously burnt remainders.

"You shot me." She deadpanned.

Now that was petty of her. He had profusely been sorry. "I thought that was made even by my efforts to save you from a watery death, milady."

"And exactly who was at fault for my drowning?" She felt heat rise up her face. Legolas saw her ears darken a shade of red and her face flushing a little pink.

"You are blushing." Legolas then did that tilting of his head that Elysia found aggravating. "Could it be, you are still embarrassed of-"

"I am _not_, you insufferably, insipid, pointy-stick throwing-"

"AHEM!"

Elysia and Legolas turned to see Aragorn gazing at them quizzically. He had promptly cleared his throat, his arms crossed and eyes staring at them with a little cock of his thick brow.

He was not the only one who was paying attention to the two. Everyone in the fellowship stared at the elf and the dragon with looks varying in amusement, confusion, and astonishment. Gandalf simply smoked his pipe while Frodo smirked.

The dragon chewed her lip and struggled to regain her composure. She inhaled deeply and sighed, walking past and away from Legolas, towards Gandalf and Frodo.

"The water smells odd." She stated in finality. "Do not even _think_ about throwing pebbles in the water, Merry."

Merry dropped the stone he was holding, appearing mildly put out.

Aragorn stared meaningfully at the calm and rather content looking elf. He looked smug about something, though it was always hard to tell with the fair-folk.

The ranger mouthed. "You _shot_ her?"

But the dwarf was less subtle. He burst into a hearty laughter and slapped his knee.

"You burned the elf's _hair!_" Gimli roared. Legolas's smug look disappeared, and he glared at the dwarf in unbridled disdain.

Elysia did not appear pleased by the laughter either. "It grew back! It looks as fine as it did then." She cleared her throat and needlessly fidgeted with her braid and stray curls.

"I'm not mad, lass!" Gimli continued laughing. "Far from it! Tis is no wonder my father was fond of ye! What I would give to see that. I bet it was an improvement!"

Elysia sighed and rolled her eyes before turning to Gandalf. "Have you thought of anything?"

"Do you think I would be sitting here if I did?" Gandalf grumbled. Elysia grimaced at her old master. Frodo, however, began to stare at the elvish inscriptions on the wall.

Something dawning in him-he stood.

"It's a riddle…" He whispered. "'Speak friend… and enter'… What's the elvish word for friend?"

Elysia's head whipped at the odd sound in the water, barely managing to catch the ripple. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously, and she sniffed. The odd scent was getting stronger…

Gandalf blinked. "Mellon."

The sound of stone grating against stone filled their ears as the gates of Moria began to open. Elysia ruffled her clever little one's hair, but her eyes did not stray from the water. Merry hadn't thrown pebbles into the water, so what was rippling? She gently ushered Frodo to follow the fellowship into the mines, eager to keep him away from the strange lake.

"What is it?" Aragorn whispered into her ear. He handed Elysia her rucksack after releasing their pony.

Elysia's nostrils flared and she grimaced. "The water smells odd…" She repeated. "But I remember where I smelled faintly before… Sea serpents' mouths smell that way occasionally. Naga enlightened me that it was because of their diet."

She tore her eyes away from the water. They entered the cave with a wary eye lingering on the liquid surface before turning towards the dark of Moria.

"What was their diet?" Aragorn inquired.

Elysia pondered for a moment. "Mostly fish, sea turtles, whales, but there was the occasional tentacle creatu-" Her nostrils flared and she stopped walking into Moria.

A foul odor hung in the air. She smelled old death, but that was not what she found foul.

"Stop." She demanded, cutting off Gimli's claims of the wonders and hospitality of Moria. The fellowship stopped and turned back to the dragon.

"Mithrandir, we should have never come here." She hissed, wide eyed and nervous as she continued to breathe in the foul scent in the obscure hall. Her pupils turned into slits, glinting with eye shine as she rapidly raked her sight around the darkness. The death smelled earthen. Goblins did not smell like earth. Goblin corpses were distinct, sour in their smell.

It was the smell of dwarf carcasses.

Aragorn placed a hand on her shoulder to steady her frantic behavior, while Gandalf hastily placed his lighting crystal upon his staff in order to see what the dragon smelled. With a quick blow of magic, he lit up the mines, and the fellowship realized what made the dragon so unnerved

The entire hall was covered with scattered skeletal bodies of dwarves. They were standing in the remains of a lost battle. The bodies were still armored, but they were peppered with arrows and wrapped with webs. Legolas reached down and yanked an arrow.

Glaring at the barbed jagged black end, Legolas confirmed Elysia's dread.

"Goblins." He spat the word with contempt. Like the others, Elysia immediately drew her sword. Silvindr increased the shine of Gandalf's light with its refracting sheen.

"We will make for the gap of Rohan." Boromir said as they began to back away from the mines. Elysia wanted to dispute otherwise, but there was little choice. Anywhere was better than here. The stench of old death was driving her mad, and it spiraled her into darker thoughts.

If this was the state of Moria… What had happened to Balin and his company?

_No… No, they cannot be-_

"Get out… Get out!" Boromir's cries distracted her worries.

For once she agreed with the steward. They had to leave. She had to leave.

The hobbits suddenly began to cry out in terror. The warriors turned to see the hobbits struggling at the entrance. A long slimy tentacle was latched on to his ankle, attempting to pull him into the foul black waters. Before Elysia could even move, brave Samwise raised his sword and began hacking at the tentacle. He severed its grasp from the Ring bearer and the water fell silent as the wounded tendril retreated.

"Frodo, come here!" Elysia demanded as she rushed forward, but was too late. The loss of one tentacle seemed to have summoned many. Slippery whips lashed out at them, knocking away the hobbits and grasping Frodo once more. The hobbit was raised into the air, flailing and yelling.

"Elly!" He cried.

Elysia and the two men of the fellowship lunged forward. Silvinder lashed through the air and hacked off three tentacles in one fell swoop. She grimaced as a she deliberately smacked aside a tentacle almost haughtily; the thing was slimy, smelled strange, and intolerably disgusting. The dragon did not consent to the filthy thing touching her.

The water gurgled and from the depths of the blackness emerged a monstrous and hideous head. Elysia wondered in the back of her mind with significant horror;

_How in Arda can Naga even eat these?!_

The water monster looked miserably disgusting. Elysia would rather eat a reeking old warg than even take a bite of this fiendish cretin. The cretin began to open its mouth, revealing a protruding maw with rows of sharp teeth. Elysia hacked viciously at incoming tentacles with one hand and reached over her shoulder, quickly unbuckling the upper clasp that loosened Faersing's blade from its scabbard.

Gripping the black leather grip of Faersing she spun around, slicing a path with Silvindr and threw her long sword with a powerful arm. It whirled through the air and sank into the monster's head.

A roar erupted from the hideous maw as the sword burned the Watcher. It burned like fire, causing pain to lance to the tip of every tentacle. Its appendages wriggled and writhed wildly, allowing Aragorn to free Frodo as Elysia lunged forward and leapt onto the fiend's head.

"Into the mines!" Gandalf yelled, shoving the hobbits in. Boromir ran with Frodo in his arms, who cried out for Elysia.

Aragorn turned to the dragon as she stabbed Silvindr into the beast's head with one and grabbed Faersing with the other. Yanking both blades out, she gave one last slash at its head before leaping of its body. The beast gave an enraged roar and reached a long barbed tentacle for the dragon, but Legolas quickly fired two arrows; one at the tentacle and another at its eye.

Aragorn grabbed Elysia as she waded through the sluggish water and dragged her towards the entrance. As soon as they were on land, Elysia was pulling him faster into Moria as the creature began to drag itself towards them, unwilling to allow its prey to leave. The walls began to cave at the pressure, and Elysia narrowly made it through as a massive chunk of rock collapsed barely seconds where she once was.

/

/

Darkness embraced them.

Elysia listened to the hammering hearts and hard breathing of the fellowship. Her own heart was palpating, but not out of fear of what had just occurred, although it had been a narrow call.

It was the air of this place that set her on edge. It was suffocating. The ice cave was at least made of ice, and ice could melt. But stone caverns… Her heat was formidable, but she would turn cold before she could melt any sort entrance from dwarvish underground strongholds. The dragon felt trapped, and she abhorred it.

Gandalf's staff began to enlighten their vision once more. Elysia sighed and her tension unraveled minutely at the hopeful light. Claustrophobia still began to writhe in her gut and she quickly started to fidget, returning Faersing back into its scabbard before adjusting the crossing strap holding Faersing to her back.

"Breathe, Elysia…" Gandalf's calm voice came from the front. The wizard did need to turn to his apprentice to notice her growing unease.

"Not easy with the foul air." She muttered, but she obeyed and began to breathe in and out, slowly. Mithrandir taught her this breathing exercise when she had her first frantic blunder in a cave they took shelter in. Still after hundreds of years, she still was not fond of rocky caves, and the acrid smell did not help to comfort her unease.

"We have no choice… We must face the long dark of Moria." Gandalf spat the words out with bitter reluctance. "Be on your guard… There are older and fouler things than Orcs in the deep places of the world."

They treaded carefully over the old corpses. Boromir glanced to Elysia and whispered.

"Are you sure you do not want to keep that blue sword of yours drawn?"

Elysia's eyes scoured the walls and the ceiling with a small frown. "Yes… Faersing is a bit too ostentatious… It is best if our presence remain unnoticed." She whispered darkly.

To her utter relief, the path took them to a spacious opening and the foul smell was overwhelmed with a more tolerable scent. Elysia touched the walls curiously and leaned her nose closer to the stone. They were giving off an oddly alluring aroma. Sharp, strong, but pleasantly fresh and sweet…

She sniffed and tilted her head like a canine with a curious scent.

"Mithril." She commented at Aragorn's odd glance at her sniffing.

"You can smell Mithril?"

"She's a dragon." Pippin timely intervened.

"Did you think Smaug followed the gossip of mortals to find Erebor's treasure?" asked Elysia with a wry smirk. "When in doubt and on the hunt, following the nose is the best solution."

Gandalf nodded and touched the bright starlit shimmering lines embedded in the rock walls.

"The wealth of Moria was not in gold or jewels, but in mithril."

He pointed his staff more out towards the empty air, and within seconds the fellowship was nearly blinded by a radiant light shimmering from the deep long walls of Moria.

Gimli, realizing the strength of Elysia's keen olfactory senses, shook his head.

"If only we dwarves were on more favorable terms with you drakes. That nose of yours is very sharp, lass." Elysia smirked at the dwarf's praise.

"A drake that loves treasure has an even greater nose for it." Elysia stared at the shimmering depth with mild surprise. "I never had much fascination for rocks myself, but I can understand why you dwarves and some drakes are so fond of the material. It is beautiful."

"I suppose with your scales, a drake such as yourself has little need for jewels." Gimli chuckled.

Elysia blinked at this, startled by the compliment. Then she beamed at him a smile more radiant than the mithril around them.

"Indeed, Gimli." Her voice was full of warm sincerity, and the dragon even appeared a little flustered at the compliment. It was no secret that her kin had always been vain with the jewel-like quality of their scale. There was a reason why "brightscales" was a title of high honor.

Gandalf smiled and chuckled as he continued to guide them. "Thorin gave Bilbo a set of mithril rings."

Gimli, who was momentarily dazed, unsuspected by the dragon's smile,—she should wear that smile more often for it was lovely—gasped at the information, as he turned.

"That was a kingly gift." He stated as they continued.

"Yes, I never told Bilbo, but that gift was worth more than the entire manor of the Shire."

Elysia paused in her walk and momentarily looked behind her, down at her little one. Frodo wore a look of equal astonishment. The dragon breathed through her nose. Then she smiled, giving the hobbit a knowing wink before hurrying to close the gap between her and the front portion of the line.

Eventually the mithril imbued walls had come to an end and the fellowship once more fell into a gloomy pace. The air was thin, and unbearably discomforting. Elysia felt her skin crawl with every step she took, and her discomfort could be seen. More than once, Boromir gave her concerned looks which she did not appreciate. It stung her pride that she would become a thing of concern.

Time seemed to be twisted in the dark mines. Whether it was day or night, none could tell, and the uneven time made it difficult to maintain a scheduled time to rest. Even Gimli, who was a dwarf, felt out of place in this sunless world. Or perhaps it was the dreadful possibility that no dwarves were spared in the goblin ambush, including his brethren.

The dragon's heart bled with the dwarf. She had hoped to reunite with the company of Thorin Oakenshield one day, to be welcomed into their halls as old friends, to share tales of conquests and journeys…

/

/

~O~O~O~O~O~

Did the hours turn into days? Did the days turn into a week? How long has it been since they've entered Moria? She could not tell, and it was driving her mad. There was nothing to measure the time except for the beating of her heart and the numbers of times they rested.

Thrice the fellowship had stopped to sleep. So has it been three days?

There was no wind, not a single breeze. No rustle of trees. No natural light. No blue skies… No stars…

The silence of this place was like a grave, a poison, and it was slowly but surely skinning her spirit.

She felt the sudden urge to change, to shift into her dragon form. She longed to roar and set fire to something, to break free from this forsaken underground back to the surface. She was willing to dig tooth and claw to find the surface.

She wanted, no… needed to do many things. She needed to rest. She needed to eat. She needed to hunt… she needed to escape.

A tap on her shoulder caught her attention with a start. Her muscles were like a coiled spring, and she twisted to catch the culprit who dared disturb her vigil with a warning hiss.

Silver met blue, and horrified realization stunned both hobbit and dragon into silence.

Upon seeing Frodo's wounded surprise, Elysia's feral glare faded as quickly as it came. Remorseful, an apology stirred on the tip of her tongue.

"Little one…" She couldn't find it in her to finish. What had come over her? How did she not sense her hobbit's approach? She had bared her teeth and snarled at him like a rabid wolf.

Elysia's confusion was not shared. There was a heartbreaking fatigue in Frodo's face as he smiled at her.

"It's not your fault. Tis mine, friend. Forgive me for disturbing you so." This formality was so unlike him, and it stung Elysia worse than an arrow to the wing.

"Frodo-"

"I was worried." Frodo confessed, unable to meet her gaze. "You… You are not yourself in these caves. You haven't rested and you do not eat. You are a dragon, but even dragons are not invulnerable to natural needs."

It wasn't just the caves. He knew this… The hobbit had an inkling that had been growing upon him since his days departing the Shire. Gandalf once told him that the Ring did terrible things to those who were born with magic thick in their veins.

The Ring was draining the dragon of her spirit's vigor. He could see it. He saw it in all of them.

"It is the caves… I… I do not dwell pleasantly in places of little sky." Elysia gave him a sad smile. "I am a hunter of the sky, little one. To be in this place is like a great cage."

This was her truth, but one's truth could easily be the world's greatest lie. Real truths were only in absolutes, and Frodo saw the truth more clearly than she did.

How long could she last like this?

How long will he make her suffer?

None of this, Frodo shared to his dear friend. He merely smiled and encouraged her to try her efforts in gaining some rest before he departed, leaving the dragon to sink deeper into her despair.

_/_

_/_

_Scritch… scratch… scritch scratch… _

She refrained from sleeping again. It had been an estimated week by Legolas' mental count. Surely she could not withstand her own fatigue for much longer? She had denied food over and over, handing it to Pippin and Merry when she thought others did not notice. Even the Took appeared reluctant to receive the extra portion of her meal.

The olive flush of her skin had greyed, thirsting for the light of the sun, and the mithril glint of her eyes were dulling into a faded grey as dim as the rocks. Dragon or not, the maiden was looking more haggard by the hour. They all were. He found himself yearning for the trees, growing restless without the sight of a single leaf or a patch of green aside from his garments.

When she had lashed out at Frodo, they were all stunned, even the wizard. None spoke of it, but all of them knew it. These caves were cursing her the most.

She was drawing again, scribbling in her leather bound book with the fervor of a hungry sparrow on a patch of seeds. What she was drawing, he was not certain, but she seemed to be attempting to preoccupy herself from sleeping.

He could tolerate it no longer. An acquaintance would simply comply with the dragon's insipid wishes to neglect her health, but not a comrade. Surely she would see the folly in her behavior. Should they come across unpleasant encounters in the mines, her restless delirium would prove to be a chink in their fellowship's defenses.

Legolas made his approach known with a long sigh. Her scribbling ceased, and her shoulders grew rigid. It did not deter the elven warrior from sitting beside her.

"Will you not find rest in these mines?" He nearly begged.

There was a lapse of silence. Then her ha nd shifted. She began scribbling once more.

He caught a glimpse of her work. It was unexpectedly simple. A crystalline sphere or stone of some sort with whispers of a familiar faded light encasing it like a candle's flame. The colorless depiction shouldn't have stirred anything within him except curiosity, but Legolas could not decipher why it made his skin crawl and his heartbeat thrum.

"Lady Elysia…."

"Cease the 'lady', Prince Greenleaf… Please." The dragon sounded more weary than dry. "You should see by now that I do not bear the finesse and propriety to bear such title."

Legolas blinked. It was unlike the dragon to demean her own person in such manner. She must truly resent these mines and the skyless atmosphere. He recalled she would always seek the high places in his kingdom, where there was an opening to the sky.

"Only if you beseech me with equal propriety, or lack thereof, in calling me by my name."

"Clever twist of words, prince leaf." She cracked an empty smirk. "Should I merely call you elvish prince, shall you call me dragon then?"

Legolas did not rise to take the bait of her patronizing words. Instead he changed paths.

"… Which constellation do you gaze upon the most?"

The dragon blinked, surprised.

"What makes you assume so confidently that I know the stars?"

"You gaze upon them as though they were long lost companions. Every night… I've seen it."

This earned him a raised brow. The elf found himself flustered under her scrutiny, but he did his best to conceal it.

"… _Soronume_." The dragon ended her scrutiny, averting her attention to the cavernous abyss. "The Eagle of the West… Where its right wing points was where my home once remained."

"Aside from the stars, what comforts you?"

"What is this sudden need to be so inquisitive, Legolas?" Elysia snapped.

Her sudden irk pleased him more than anything. He was more familiar with this trait of the dragon… And she said his name. When he heard his name uttered by her lips, it warmed him.

"Tis in an elf's nature to be inquisitive of things they find unique, Elysia… As it is in a dragon's nature to be stubborn and biting."

"I am not stubborn." She earned a skeptical look. "and take care to not be so flippant with the mentioning of our bite. It will tempt me to take a snap at you." Elysia clacked her teeth together for emphasis.

The elf gave a soft snort of amusement. They lapsed into silence once more, this one much more comfortable. Legolas had been content to remain in this tranquil quiet but Elysia spoke in a soft whisper.

"The beat of a heart."

Legolas gave her his full and undivided attention, asking with his eyes.

The dragon shifted to make herself comfortable, her sketchbook lying forgotten by her side. She curled her legs close to her chest and held them there before resting her small chin atop her knees and wrists.

"The beat of a heart… It is the rhythmic melody of the life coursing through our veins…. It had always given me comfort to hear the sound of heartbeats, not just my own."

There had been times when she had no other heartbeat to listen to other than her own. Those had been terribly lonesome times. She would never admit it herself, but the heartbeats of each member in their fellowship gave her immense comfort. More than once in these mines, she had been tempted to lean in to hear the heartbeat of Gimli, for dwarf hearts were loud, strong, and fast. Aragorn's was hearty and very steady. Even when he was startled, it was hard to quicken the pace of his heart. In the Shire, she had often placed her ear against Frodo's back or on his chest. The small lad had always found it amusing, but he was content to allow the dragon her own joys with his beating organ.

It was how her family comforted her. When she had been within the egg, her mother had placed her as close as she could to her chest without crushing her shell. Through the surface, Elysia would hear the steady, powerful beat of her dame's heartbeat. When she hatched, Vraiel had taken to allowing her little form to rest atop his chest, curled and content in her naps when hearing his lively soul's rhythm.

It was a sound reminding her of a tranquil time. It was a reminder of her promise.

It was hard to hear the muffled beat of the heart without placing her ear against the surface. She side glanced at the steady rise and fall of the elf's shoulders, imagining the pulse she would hear should she press her ear to his back.

She quelled the ridiculous thought, appalled, feeling rather betrayed by her own mind. The caves must have addled her mind to become some deprived craven.

She ignored the lingering longing and closed her eyes, blatantly ignoring the elf she was having a pleasant conversation with earlier. Deeply, she focused her ears, determined to seek her selfish want without forsaking her pride.

But to her utter surprise, warmth gentle enfolded her. Elysia's eyes snapped open, and she readied herself to shove the elf away from his emboldened gesture.

But then the elf neared her head to the base of his neck.

_Ga-thump._

Where she heard the sound of his heart loud and clear.

_Ga-thump… Ga-thump… Ga-thump._

His heartbeat was steady. It was strong and so strangely gentle. Against her rational, her body fell almost limp in his arms, leaning her closer to his chest where his heart resonated with its lulling beat.

"… You were troubled… I hoped this would ease it." He answered her silent inquiry in a hushed tone, as though he feared she may withdraw should he make a greater sound.

Ease her it did. A soft, content sigh escaped her lips. The dragon felt the elf's grip shift, adjusting his old on her as she became lax in his arms. The slight adjustment caused her to stiffen, realizing the impropriety of their position. Before she could shuffle from his grasp and hastily apologize or give him a biting remark, the elf tightened his grip on her, almost comfortingly.

"Tis not a shame to seek a friend for solace, Elysia. Allow yourself this one reprieve from your pride for the sake of your spirit." He chided, but it was done with a gentleness that made it hard for Elysia to protest.

So she relented, too weary to argue, too eager to grasp this chance.

There was an intimacy occurring, far greater than the simplicity of this embrace. It had been dormant for decades, neglected and perhaps long forgotten by the elf.

But the dragon never forgot… No matter how hard she had once tried, she never could, and being here, near this beating heart, she realized she had been foolish to even try.

For how could one forget something that was _theirs_?

/

/

In the Mines of Moria, Elysia finally found herself feeling… whole. Her soul was singing with the content of its completion after waiting for a lonesome number of years, calling out to its missing piece with all the mourning a silent stargazing figure could bear.

And in that content, her body began to seek its much needed rest. With each rhythmic thump of the elf's chest, against her mind's stubborn wishes, she began to fall asleep, the first sleep she's had since entering Moria.

When Gandalf awoke, he discovered that he was not the first to rise in his company… Or perhaps he was simply not the last to sleep, for as he searched the resting company with old but ever so keen eyes, he spotted something unimaginable.

The wizard did not know whether to smile or simply stare (he did more of the latter), as he realized with slow growing clarity what, or who more exactly, the son of Thranduil cradled in his long arms.

_"She needed sleep." _Legolas explained in a soft, elvish whisper, careful as to not awaken the sleeping dragon in his arms. It sounded ridiculous and unbelievable if Gandalf did not see it; his draconic apprentice resting with her head resting against the elf's chest, an expression of utter tranquility resting upon her face. It was alien to see the dragon to have such delicate impression. It brought a wave of nostalgia upon the wizard, reminding him of the days when she was still young and not yet growing into her confidence.

Legolas' tall body appeared to dwarf her with its careful and modest embrace. The wizard would have felt scandalized if it were any other time or place. He had little doubt the others would as well, but seeing the peace in his apprentice would be worth whatever 'impropriety' was occurring.

But it was strange. The sight before him was one matter of peculiarity, but what intrigued him more was the magic. The aura of his apprentice… Long he had the inkling that something had not been quite right with her ever since she departed from Mirkwood. She was... not quite whole. It wasn't a disease, but she had been suffering, fragmented in ways the naked eye could not see. He had assumed it was because of the Mirkwood's enchanted waters and the spiders she encountered. There were powerful spells and poisons that pulsated through the woods…

Yet now she was in one piece.

It would be a riddle he would have to mull over… for now…

Yes… for now he didn't have the heart to wake her. Legolas was right. She had been in desperate need for rest.

Perhaps it would not hurt to allow the fellowship asleep for a few hours longer.

/

/

/

_She knew it was a dream… It was a world of shattered plains and dark skies. There was nothing else to be seen far beyond what she could see. Nothing but the distant slate grey mounds of clouds in perpetual waiting, nothing but the white earthen fragments cracked and pieced like permanent marks of lightning. _

_ The land looked so dry but she could smell the rain brewing in the air, feel the thunderclouds generating their crackling light. _

_ A single droplet fell from the dreary heaven. It fell upon her eye and traced her cheek as though the sky wished to cry the many unshed tears for her. _

_ And the rest of its tears followed._

_ The sky began to weep. Soon the silence was interrupted by the hissing torrent of an endless downpour. _

_ The cracks in the shattered plains began to fill. The dry white earth soaked in the heaven's tears with the haste of a thirsty wanderer. _

_The grey faded with the rain, unveiling a sky filled with endless speckles of brilliant silver. _

_And the barren floors of fragmented white became a mirror of an endless night._

_ There must have been seeds planted in the soil of the shattered plain, for in the hidden cracks of the mirrored floor, scattered saplings began to form. Small sprouts of luminescent green lit the mirrored ground. They seemed to be reaching for the stars, drinking in the reflected light of the liquid pools to keep their healing glow while their tiny leaves stretched towards the heaven._

_ It was a beautiful world but also a cold one. _

_ A desolate realm of dreamy landscapes but with no life, no other, no one else._

_ A silent place that lied hopeful in patient waiting… _

There was the sudden sound of gasping breaths. Elysia woke with a start as her mind reeled back her body to the rocky ground on which she had fallen asleep.

Five estimated days have passed since her first comfortable slumber. After Legolas had become her brief and subtle confident, she had taken the elf's word to seeking her friends' assistance in conserving her sanity in this lost place. Twice, including tonight, Aragorn had lent his broad back to her ear, allowing her to listen to his beating heart as they fell asleep. Strangely the two thought nothing of the impropriety in Elysia's request, and had quickly found a simply position where Aragorn slept on his side with his back facing the dragon while the dragon simply on an angle in reverse, placing her ear against or near his rhythmic organ. There was very little intimacy in the position. Some would even find it odd, but none questioned the dragon after they saw the tire slowly leave her haggard gaze.

This time, she did not appear to be the only one who woke abruptly. Being the light sleeper, Aragorn had also awoken. With the discipline of a warrior, his grogginess quickly faded as he scanned the campsite. It appeared as though Legolas had also been roused unexpectedly. Usually, that was not an odd thing. Elves were not in need of much rest, and his elvish friend was a trained warrior as well, who did not hesitate to become alert especially when in tension filled environments. But Legolas appeared to have been awoken, not by some outer force or sound, but by something that had troubled his mind, as did Elysia.

The uncanny timing of their wakefulness puzzled the ranger, and he was not alone. Their grey Istar had been keeping vigil. It was his turn to watch over them while they earned some desperately needed sleep. Gandalf had been puffing his pipe in silence when he saw them get up with a start.

Elysia did not think much of it, too troubled by the vivid nature of her strange dream. Dusting off the dirt on her clothes, she walked to a more private ground where she began to shuffle through her bag for the ivory comb gifted to her by Arwen.

The wizard's pensive eyes darted from the troubled elf to the thoughtful dragon. Then he spoke to no one in particular.

"**What were the contents of the dream that startled you?"**

Aragorn thought nothing of the foreign tongue, for it was something only the dragon could answer. But to his surprise, Gandalf was answered by his friend.

"It was strange." Legolas replied, a troubled frown on his fair features. "I was standing in a realm where I seemed to be walking a mirror to the heavens. There were many stars in the sky." He spoke wistfully. "It felt endless."

He walked towards Aragorn, immersed in his own thoughts, unaware of three keen pairs of eyes watching him with mixtures of shock and curiosity.

Aragorn was confused. He wasn't aware that the elf understood the tongue of the ancient language…

And neither did Gandalf or Elysia, so it seemed. Elysia remained as rigidly stiff as a chiseled statue, knelt beside her belongings. She had been prepared to respond to her old master, to share the troubles of her dream… only for it to be shared by the elf."

How did he know of her dream? Or more accurately, how did he also dream of the same land?

The wizard looked as though he wished to ask the same question, but he remained silent. Instead he regarded the elf with an unreadable expression. The gears within his mind were slowly being meshed together, and a slow growing theory began forming.

Before anyone could speak, the wizard gave the elf a kind smile. "Legolas, would you do me the favor of handing me Faersing?" He made a nonchalant gesture towards the sword by the elf's feet.

Thinking nothing of it, Legolas knelt and grasped the sword by its scabbard in a single fluid motion. When he presented it to Gandalf, all appeared to be fine as the wizard reached for the sword… Until gnarled hands grabbed the scabbard; Gandalf's hold was too feeble. The Istar let out a small "oop" and the heavy sword slipped from his grasp.

But Legolas, being the quick elf he was, caught the sword by its leathered handle before it could clatter on the earth and woke the others.

The moment his hand grasped the sword's grip, the ranger and the dragon held their breaths while the wizard remained calm and patiently knowing. They all knew of Faersing's intolerance to being held by all but its master.

And as they expected, something happened, but it was something unanticipated.

A pulse of blue light rippled through the sword, from the handle to the sapphire pommel, and Legolas felt a humming surge of warmth flood through his arm, a sensation that made his feet curl and his hairs stand at the nape of his neck. It was gentle, but he could feel the unseen power contained within the blade, the connection and undying loyalty it had to its lady master.

Faersing… it was _welcoming_ him.

It ended abruptly as Elysia all but ran and intervened. With a rough swipe of her hand, she snatched the sword between the elf and the wizard. There was an unbridled anxiety brewing in her pale, colorless gaze, but she said nothing.

Aragorn was flummoxed and out of place. What was going on? He looked to the wise old wizard for answers, hoping that the Istar might share some of his confusion or enlighten him.

But the gaze of burning knowing in the wizard's darkening countenance did the contrary, and Aragorn had the inclination that what just occurred… It was either very wrong or very strange…. Or both.

**"Dragon. We need to speak. Alone."** It was not a request, but a demand. The said dragon tried her best not to shrink from the almost menacing determination in the wizard's tone.

She relented with a silent nod. The elf and the ranger watched as the dragon rather meekly followed the hasty wizard to more private places of the Mines, away from unwanted eyes and ears. Legolas watched as they vanished before turning to his mortal friend.

"_Have I done something?" _He looked a little lost, and Aragorn felt empathetic to his friend's strange plight.

_"Nay, mellonnin… I think not." _Aragorn replied in hushed elvish. _"But Elysia did…"_

Or that was his theory. It was the most likely of reasons. The dragon maiden was so fiercely secretive, there was no other explanation.

Legolas could only cock his head, deeply troubled. His palm tingled with lingering warmth from Faersing's touch.

* * *

><p>Read and review! Thank you~<p>

-Mana


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